Silkscreen Requiem
by greyrondo
Summary: Kuja, you have something of mine that I want, even more than the Crystal. You know I'll kill to get it, so... why won't you?
1. Introit

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia, except for Kuja… all right, fine. I don't even own Kuja.

Initially, I wanted to work with the idea of an untrustworthy narrator. It's evolved since then, and while I wrote this a few months ago, it took more time (than, say, Dissonant) because… Kuja talks ten times more than Cloud does (Zidane's normal), but I didn't want volume to speak for content. Let's move on to the technical stuff…

Silkscreen Requiem is rated T because of swearing, violence, and controversial topics including but not limited to suicide, bulimia, sadism, and various emotional weirdness. That said, please read and enjoy!

**Silkscreen Requiem**

Introit

If nothing else, I can always count on my reflection in the mirror.

Long moonlight waves that fly whichever way they choose—which is why long is the only option—that steep to violet and blue at the ends in such a perfect way that it must be a genetic defect.

My porcelain doll's skin. The freakish feathers that could only be mine.

I add the red to my eyes myself, of course, every morning after my usual cup of black, exceptionally caffeinated tea. I need something to counterbalance that telling Terran indigo.

My body, stunning and statuesque in how it grotesquely represents Terra's deathly idols, a mockery that had been forced upon me by my creator, a façade that literally devours me from the inside regardless of how much I eat or drink.

Trust me on that one. The debutantes and duchesses of Treno have nothing on me when it comes to the nameless monster inside that rejects nourishment only moments after consumption.

Garland and his genius foresight. What business do I have, after all, enjoying the small details of life? As his Angel of Death, even I must agree it's a little counterproductive. In theory.

But he figured out when I was around twelve that he wasn't doing himself any favors by giving me more reasons to hate him. The next model was blessedly free of Garland's dominating restraints. Mortality, among others.

Somehow, Garland, that didn't win me over.

But how can I forget the tail? As if the other distortions of normalcy weren't enough, I have that final brand to remind me every step I take that I have him to thank even for the pathetic excuse of a life I do manage to cling to despite his well-meaning fatherly intentions.

Yes, I can always count on my reflection to be consistent. No matter how exquisite, I always love how much I hate it.

I truly am a breathtaking mistake. I deserve, uphold and exceed every variation on the definition of 'narcissist'. Such is my beauty that people have this obsession with viewing me as they want me to be, rather than who I am.

Like that other model I mentioned earlier. He thinks….

That I have a good heart, even if it needs a little dusting. That I just need someone who can understand me and become friends with me, and maybe even love me.

My little brother sincerely believes I have some complex stemming from my dysfunctional relationship with Garland, and that's why I'm so delightfully sadistic. Some inability to trust people and accept kindness, springing from some deep, buried anxiety of rejection, misplaced emotional hurt, and a lifetime of loneliness. That I really don't want to become a god and rule the world from now until eternity do us part.

No. I'm so sorry.

I really, really do.

"Aren't you the pretty little peacock today, strutting about like that?" Ultimecia sneers every time she sees me. Unfortunately, she continues to believe that her voice is actually something I want to hear on a regular basis, even though I've told her otherwise.

But if it's not her, it's someone else. And some of them aren't even as artistic in their insults as she. They're all so proud of their accomplishments and the years they've soaked in Chaos, as if they actually enjoy it. In their eyes, I simply can't compare.

It's laughable.

"You don't know pain. You're just a naïve schemer with delusions of grandeur. You don't belong here with the rest of us."

I don't know pain? I don't belong here? Can't they tell why I'm here in the first place?

Do they just look the other way when they see me collapse, caught in the throes of my father's final curse?

Damn them. Damn them all.

I hope that when they die, it's because they slip up and do something irrevocably stupid. I hope it's their own mistakes that finally do them in, because it will mean that their precious experience and age were worthless in the end.

And I hope that each of them dies alone.


	2. Tuning For Strings

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia. I wish I had a fun little stamp I could just put at the top of all my fics that says 'I don't own anything!'

Thanks to everyone who's read so far! As usual, I've taken liberties with Garland's identity and made him both of them at the same time. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter One: Tuning For Strings

"Wake up, boy."

As of ten seconds ago, I was asleep, blissfully ignorant of everyone and everything. Sleep is wonderful like that: a few minutes of silence, perhaps aided by a self-cast spell or addictive herb, and the waking universe simply melts away.

I'm lying on my back, soaking up what little sun that this empty shell of a world provides. Any more, and I suppose I would burn, so I should be thankful. But of course I'm not. Life is full of things that you can only truly appreciate by being angry that you can't have them. Like sunlight. Like warmth.

"Boy, I didn't make you deaf. Get up."

It isn't like I can pretend that I'm so far gone in slumber that I can't hear him, considering that my eyes are in fact open. And given that I'm breathing, it would take quite a bit of effort to convince him that I'm dead.

So I sigh, heavily. The kind of sigh that you only hear when you're inconveniencing somebody and you need to be informed that inconveniencing is exactly what you're doing, and you need to stop.

Rolling over onto my stomach, I stare blankly at the animated suit of armor before me.

"Holy Lord God of imprisoned marionettes, the heavens and Terra are filled with thy glory. Good morning, my dear Garland," I beam. "How about I don't get up, and you go find yourself a cliff to jump off so I don't have to help you this time?"

Fun little secret that Garland and I keep from the rest of our cherished friends: when our worlds did… well, whatever they did… the scrounging, pathetic whimper of my father's soul from my world fused with his unfortunately stronger counterpart from another.

For example.

His gauntlet closes around my collar before I even know to react, and pulls me up to meet his eyes. It's a very long way, and I'm comparatively short. The tip of my tail can't even touch the ground.

If I was truly aiming for pity, then I would share a tear-jerking story of abuse. I would recall him holding me up there until I choke on my own armor, followed by a heart-wrenching elaboration of the perfectly painful way that he throws me into the crystal-glass wall. I would add the sympathy-ensuring coup de grace, that his sheer power spider-webs the crystal wall behind my spine and I feel my blood trickle down my back.

But I don't want pity. I despise pity, except when I'm giving it. So the truth is that I explode with my usual black magic—the most advanced thunder magic that can be cast—and he releases me without a scratch. Thunder and armor don't mix so well, after all.

"You'd do well to obey me with more promptness in the future. I'm calling everyone together. If you know what's good for you, you'll sit at my side like the doll you are."

"Of course, Father," I sneer, and smirk. To him, hearing that word from a failure such as me is a slap in the face. But I suppose that's why I fail him in the first place: I have a backbone.

He doesn't bite the bait today, not like yesterday. He simply pauses in his steps, and then continues on.

I don't even notice Jecht until I feel his coarse, callused hand brush my hair back from my face.

"What do you think you're doing?!" I snap at him, practically baring my fangs as I glare up at him. "Don't touch me," I add in disdain before he can come up with some pathetic response, and I slap his hand away with the back of mine.

The blow smarts and he withdraws immediately. My nails aren't long and filed to a razor edge because I think they look prettier that way.

"You're bleeding," Jecht says. Funny, I noticed that as well.

"Jecht, what are you doing?" A voice calls. Golbez. Since when were the two of them friends? "Leave him be."

But Jecht pauses, and I know that pause. I know that pause well, because pauses like that are filled with pity.

At the same time, I'm caught off guard. In heroic, idiotic types, such pauses are an art to be cultivated, because they are the ultimate predecessor to a change of heart, followed by a helping hand (whether that hand is wanted or not). But this was coming from Jecht.

Has Chaos been infiltrated by the forces of Cosmos?

No. That's ridiculous. And I will admit to being ridiculous, sometimes. Possibility, after all, is really too much fun to not entertain. The minor concussion might also have something to do with it.

And then I become afraid. Because such pauses only occur when the heroic idiot stumbles upon enough evidence to sway his mind from logos to heart-meltingly moronic pathos.

How much did Jecht see?

"You're right," Jecht says, standing up and turning around. "The kid can obviously handle himself. Don't want to hurt his pride, even though he's got plenty to go around."

That's what I hate most about those pauses. Someone doesn't have to be a celebrated traitor like me to offer their hand and then pull it away.

Which reminds me. Healing magic, while incomparably useful, does not completely remove bloodstains from any fabric, particularly anything white. So I take care of that before I stand up again.

And I go on my merry way, so I can pretend to listen to Garland grandstand and throw his weight around while I try and figure out what it is that my dearest friends truly want, and how to best help them die instead of achieve it.

I stand—not sit—next to the Cloud of Darkness. The Cloud of Darkness is who I would like to refer to as a neutral: one of those amongst us that either doesn't freak me out—Kefka is the only individual in this category—or doesn't find it entertaining to harass me. It's apparently popular sport, given that most of us don't have our respective protagonists to toy with.

Do I really look like a good boy?

Speaking of good boys, you can never refer to the Cloud of Darkness as simply 'Cloud'. Because the morose black-jacketed… whatever… named Sephiroth objects. Vehemently.

I take it that it's something personal.

I would like to say that I don't pry, because honestly, I don't want a single one of them to know anything about me. But I do. One can never know too much, but unfortunately, my information is spotty, at best.

Jecht and Golbez don't stand next to each other. Interesting.

And it feels unfair to isolate Kefka without proper explanation, even though Kefka himself is reason enough. But we're all mad here, so how did the pied nihilistic piper excel beyond even Garland for shock value?

"Well, they were right. You're certainly much prettier than the Cloud of Darkness or Ultimecia. And shorter, too!" he said when he cornered me during our first enchanting meeting. Curious about where this was going, I chose to let him. Even I think of bad ideas, sometimes. Like Zorn and Thorn. Anyways.

Then he touched my hand. I considered that a threat.

"I'm a boy, thank you very much," I seethed. With disgust, I curled my own hand over his offensive wrist and jerked it away. Of course I drew blood. Then I decided that some magic would teach the fool a lesson.

"And a little, little boy is what you are, certainly enough!" he cackled as his deranged brain finally processed that he needed to back off, and quickly.

"But your eyes," he said, staring me down. No, not staring. Gazing, lovingly.

"I can tell that you wanted it."

"What…?" For a moment I was afraid. Truly afraid. That he knew about it. But then…

"A kindred soul! You're just like me. You understand more than these idiots ever will: that life is a bad jest, at best! You wanted it: oblivion, the end to everything, the final beautiful swansong of suicide!"

Suicide?!

That's ridiculous. It wasn't suicide. No. Not me. Not suicide, I could never.

Suicide is unforgivable. It is the act of ultimate sorrow for one's self. I love myself; too much, even. Suicide is a cry for help. I don't need help.

I stay away from Kefka because he's obviously too far gone for anyone's help. He's wrong.

Garland begins. He starts off our little planning session with group meditation: stroking our egos by naming each of us and our particular peculiarities, even though we're well acquainted. I ignore him; I have more intriguing concerns. Dynamics and loyalties are a subtle thing when everyone is equally treacherous, and no one has any reason to trust one another.

There are those like me who desire power. And there are those, not like me, who need it. Who swarm like sharks to blood in the water, who are insatiable in their gluttonous never-ending consumption that their own existence becomes nothing more than a means to an end. Exdeath is one of those.

Garland is not. He almost is, but while I despise him, even I cannot go so far as to ignore that he has rules. Standards. Chivalry, because believe it or not, we do have our own brand of chivalry here on the dark side.

It's just not something seen every day, and it's fairly difficult to define, except by example. For example…

Garland has chivalry in that he regards his duty with utmost care and nothing less. The Cloud of Darkness has chivalry in that she is only following her nature, which is to return everything to the balance of nothingness. Golbez has chivalry in the respect with which he treats his business partners. Very professional.

No, while Garland is a rather annoying personal problem, like an inconvenient allergy, I do not worry about him. Mostly.

But the Emperor. He has no rules.

Note that do not say that he is breaking the rules. I sometimes break the rules when I seek to delight in the delicious aftertaste of suffering and discord, the bittersweet and decadent dark chocolate of sadism. From what I…hear, Sephiroth is even more well-rehearsed in psychological torture than I am, and if he does truly play such games then he breaks the rules as well. Ultimately, though, at the end of day we still give a moment of thought to our little lists of do's and don'ts.

But there never were any rules with the Emperor. Suggestions, ideas, perversions, yes. He will do anything and cares not for how his actions will remark on his own image. Only a fool cannot tell that he wants nothing more than to eliminate Garland in the most painful, dominating way possible.

If not the most important question, the most relevant question: do I ally myself with him?

I look up to find him already attempting to meet my eyes. I match his and do not smile. Ordinarily, I would. People are idiots. They see a smile and they think they hear 'yes'. But not him. I won't ally myself with him.

Faith doesn't pay for security in this circle.

Trust… hah. What a joke.


	3. Mass in Time of War

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

This chapter introduces Silkscreen Requiem's other narrator. Zidane's a little... well, he has some motives that make him act a little weird. But you can't blame him! Well, of course I'd say that, I'm the author. But this fic is really centered on reader's interpretation, so feel free to voice your thoughts on what you've decided is the truth about what's going on. Please enjoy!

Chapter Two: Mass in Time of War

If nothing else, I can always count on the reflecting gazes of my friends. We are, after all, nothing more than the definitions kept and the impressions trimmed in the minds of others.

Sure, they see the weird blue eyes, the girly cheekbones that make me look even younger than I already am. They see the tail, which raises a few questions. But not for long.

No, because not too soon after they first shake my hand, I make sure that it's me they pay attention to, not my appearance. I have a lot to say, which usually helps. Other people are really interesting, when you can get them to talk.

Some people, though, are more interesting than others. The most interesting people are the ones who talk the most, but say nothing whatsoever about themselves, not really. Because then it becomes a serious sort of game: separate the wheat from the chafe or however that stupid saying goes, and figure out what's really going on inside that head.

And to indulge in a tiny, tiny fraction of narcissism, I think people like that are the most interesting because I'm that kind of person. I know their game from the beginning, so whether they hide their true selves with an affected accent or strange clothes, everything is crystal clear.

Hah. I should use that one on the Warrior of Light. I'm sure he'd laugh. Or at least chuckle, maybe just to be nice.

Everyone's here, after all, because they play nice. Because our sense of 'doing the right thing' crumbles in the end, and we get all soppy and let people live who shouldn't. Or because we wanted the other side dead, but we weren't good enough to make dead something permanent.

One could say that our happy little family's kind of split in two, like that. Those who would have killed but couldn't, and those that should have killed but didn't.

But not me. I'm one of a kind. Because it's not enough for me to just do this and go home. Kuja has something I want, and I'm not talking about that crystal. No, it's something that is unique to him, and the way I've got it all planned out, if I piss him off enough, he'll give it to me.

I wonder how Kuja's holding up. He's dying, and I know that his new companions aren't exactly going to line up for a chance to take care of him. And he doesn't really make friends. But what worries me most is the name that haunts the Warrior of Light's whispers: Garland.

Because every time someone reminisces about their world, I can't help but see something from Gaia in their memories. Cecil's heritage, for one, bothers me. Onion Knight's Cloud of Darkness sounds just like that nihilistic wraith I found beyond the darkness of oblivion in the Crystal World. And Cloud's Lifestream, a phenomenon that sounds so much like my home's eternal cycle of souls.

What is the Origin World? Why did my Gaia open to Memoria, and to the Crystal's sanctuary?

If my world is so connected to everyone else's, then whose Garland will I clash swords with?

I feel bad, what with everyone counting on me to help. I look at them and I can already see their deaths. Sometimes they're poetic, sometimes they're cowardly. But their faces stay the same. The Warrior of Light will feel shortchanged, that he didn't have more time to fight in the name of Cosmos. Firion, anger that he couldn't do enough to keep the other side from winning. Onion Knight… poor kid. He won't even know what's coming.

Maybe Cecil will accept it quietly. I don't know, I can't look at him without seeing my brother for some reason; I guess it's the hair.

If anyone dies for someone else, it will be Bartz. It had better not be me. Terra—perhaps she'll fall to her death, just like the last special beautiful lady in my life. What a name…

Cloud. I don't know anything about him. He doesn't talk, but he has this look in his eyes whenever our stares meet. I don't think about it. I don't want to know what's going on in his head. He freaks me out, just a little. So does Squall, but for more easily read reasons. His death is going to be brutal, I just feel it.

And then there's Tidus. He's so happy, so uplifting all the time. He's what I try to be, but I can't shake the death from my eyes. Sometimes I think he's not real. Like he'll just splinter into little fragments of light and disappear sometime soon.

I'm a traitor, smiling at them and all the while thinking that I don't have any intention of making it through to the end. That's as bad as killing them myself, isn't it?


	4. Moonlight Sonata

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I really like Golbez, even though I've yet to sit down and really get into FFIV. Maybe in the next few weeks, sometime. I don't like how he beats me up in Dissidia, but that's kind of my fault for just chucking magic around and not really putting any thought into the battles. Please enjoy!

Chapter Three: Moonlight Sonata

Zidane. What an onerous name, but what a delightfully adorable imbecile. Why did you save me?

Like I said before, possibility is a wonderful thing to entertain. The imagination is almost as fantastic of a construction as a nightmare, for distracting from the real. But is this world real?

I can taste the cold on the wind. I can feel pain in it. But this world that Chaos left behind cannot possibly be real, not like mine. It is a fragment world, composed of beautiful, blade-sharp shards of the worlds we all abandoned.

"I like this one. It reminds me of home," I say to no one in particular, satire biting my tongue. And it does: the shard I am standing on was another world's moon.

"It was mine," I hear someone say behind me.

"Yours, Golbez?" I respond, without turning around to acknowledge him. Why waste the energy, when I don't have much to spare in the first place?

"Someone told me something about you, little bird," he drones, clanking up to me. I don't remember who started the bird jokes, but I suppose they could be worse. I know that, behind my back, their sneering whispers are certainly less innocent than the occasional quip about my hair. Not that I don't have an equally scathing opinion of each of them.

I don't want to be here right now. I want to sleep.

Sloth is one of the most beautifully indulgent sins, almost as delightful as lust. Don't get me wrong: I spend as much time doing nothing as I ever did, but the fact that my deteriorating condition necessitates rest takes all the fun out of luxuriously lounging about.

It's really not fair. Gluttony is, after all, barred from me. I suppose drinking in excess would have the same eventual rewards as sloth, but the last thing an Angel of Death needs to do is lose his sense of judgment.

Am I greedy, prideful? Perhaps. I can't think of any particular incident, but I don't doubt it. I'm certainly greedy for anything that resembles an ordinary life, but I wonder if that's closer to wrath. Indignant wrath, directed towards Garland for cursing me as such.

In fact, I'm entirely certain that I'm irrevocably guilty of every sin that I can possibly trespass onto, except for envy.

"I've heard that the one who would fight you is your younger brother," Golbez says.

"That's right," I smile slowly, hate crystallizing in my eyes. "Perfect little Zidane…"

Golbez clears his throat. "I'm sorry?"

And my blood freezes. Had I said that out loud? "I would prefer if you called me Kuja, if that's convenient for you," I say then, turning away. I take a few steps to separate us.

"Kuja. I do apologize, and I mean it. It's not very respectful, or professional."

Some feral part of me resists the urge to growl under my breath. Does he think I can't tell when I'm being made fun of?

"What's it to you, anyways," I demand. "Who wants me dead? So what if it's my younger brother? What does that have to do with anything that you and your grand plans could possibly care about?"

"It's just that Cecil—" he begins. I don't have time for him. I don't care.

And then I see. I linger on this side of the edge, so that someone looking up would only see the sheen of starlight against the stone. Because that someone would recognize me.

A heavy hand settles on my shoulder as I watch my brother run off into the distance with his friend in tow. Didn't I get rid of Golbez already?

"Is what Jecht says true?"

I sigh. "What is it that Jecht says," I ask blankly. My voice communicates apathy that I typically reserve for close friends.

"Well, one could say that you're Garland's canary."

I could choke. I really could. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. So I compose myself instead. "In my world, being someone's 'canary' refers to someone's true love. I pray to everything that might be conceived of as a god that we don't share that interpretation."

"That's strange," he says, and shakes his head. "I suppose I would have to come from your world, but I don't see how such a connection could have been made. Because… aren't canaries the birds that are sacrificed?"

"I don't follow…"

"Their keepers raise them so that they can be brought down in cages into the mines, so that at the first scent of poisonous gasses, the canary will die as a sign for the miners to leave the area."

"I'm not Garland's pet, if that's what you're trying to say," I tell him as calmly as I am able.

"Of course not. Why else the cage?"

I have no response to that. And I tell him so.

"You're a brave one then, singing even as you're perfectly aware of the bars. That way, he won't know how much you hate him."

Then I laugh. "Oh, he knows how much I hate him." And then I stop, and I realize that the conversation I'm having is the one conversation I told myself that I would never have. A few words of feigned sympathy, and I'm…

Well, I'm singing like a bird. How pitiful.

"Why are you here, Golbez," I suddenly demand, turning on him. He can't meet my eyes without looking down at me, so I don't bother to meet his. Instead, I look past him, taking in the shell of dust around us.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you 'don't know'?" I retort, my voice cool as it sifts through his pathetic response. And then I see that his answer is correct, but for a different question.

"You see, I died fulfilling Cosmos' will. I don't know why I'm here, when I'm as loyal to her as my," he pauses, and shakes his head, "as Cecil."

"Maybe Chaos just likes you more," I smirk. I know better than to fall for his tricks.

And then he appears.

He comes from nowhere, carrying himself like the emperor he once was. He does not acknowledge me immediately, of course not. But he strides between us and nods solemnly in Golbez's direction.

"Golbez, good day to you. How are you faring?"

Realizing that my eyes might be seen as pleading, I pull my gaze away from Golbez and diffuse the tension between my shoulders. Honestly, I don't know where it even came from.

"As well as any other day," Golbez responds. "What might I do for you, Emperor?"

The Emperor smiles apologetically. "I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you. Am I interrupting something?"

Yes, you are, I glare. It's not the truth, but since when does that matter?

"Nothing that can't be interrupted," Golbez shakes his head. I should have been nicer to Golbez, because then he wouldn't be ignoring me now. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing's wrong. I simply seek private audience with this one—"

"—no."

"I beg pardon?" the Emperor asks, his face mockingly innocent as he looks to me. He offends my senses.

"No," I simply say again, and turn my back without as much as a goodbye. I suddenly feel cold; I need to go someplace warmer. I ignore their voices as I leave this fragmented moon world behind.


	5. Blessed Are They

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I'm really excited to announce that this chapter has a big dose of backstory/plot in it, in comparison to the last few. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Four: Blessed Are They

"Hey, Warrior of Light," I called out. Then I gritted my teeth and hugged my arms tight. This place, this frozen wasteland, was cold. Lifeless. Ice, ice, and more ice just to keep things interesting. Since when does peace and order mean stillness and death?

When I look at the Warrior of Light, I see something that reminds me of my family: I see in his eyes the blank soulless stare of my brothers and sisters, the nameless and identical Genomes. He's exhausted, I'm sure.

He doesn't look up, doesn't even twitch. I might as well have not even said a word. "Hey, Warrior of Light. You there?" I'm right up in his face before he blinks.

"Oh, Zidane," he stammers, mentally gathering himself together. "What can I do for you?"

I frown. "You're the one who called me. Why are we out here alone, anyways? You don't have anything special to talk with me about that the others can't hear."

"Well," he begins. "Not… necessarily. Cosmos, he's here." He turns to Cosmos' low, unassuming throne. It's empty.

But even as his monotonic announcement echoes against the ice, I see her. Cosmos: pale and beautiful, like a faraway star. She's completely out of my league, so I feel the tiniest bit better knowing that I'm not exactly looking for anybody, not anymore.

She's also tired. She wilts without the Crystal, and now she's dying.

"My faithful warrior, Zidane," she says to me, weaving her fingers together as she looks up at me. Before she can say anything else, I bow in front of her. Mostly because it's the only way I know how to honor such a lady, but a little bit because I don't want her to see my face when I hear those words.

I am her faithful warrior. I want her light to win against the darkness of Chaos, and I do want our worlds restored. I'll fight the fight, I just don't want anything to do with the aftermath. So I look up.

"If there's anything I can do for you, my pretty lady, I'll make sure to fulfill your wishes to the best of my abilities," I tell her with a smile.

She smiles back, but then extends her palm. From the ice a low bench is carved with her magic, and she wants me to sit. "Warrior of Light, would you be so kind to leave us?"

The Warrior of Light hesitates. But there's no emotion on his face to betray what he's thinking. Then he bows his head.

"Of course, milady," and he turns around, disappearing from this arctic emptiness as he does.

I look at Cosmos, who watches the empty air for a few moments after he's gone. Then she turns to me, and clears her throat. "Zidane, let me tell you a story."

"I'm a bit old for story time," I joke. But she doesn't seem to get it. She just begins.

"In the beginning, there was the Crystal. From it came destiny. And necessarily, a world for destiny to weave its way. This was the Origin World. And for a long, long time, all was good. All was peaceful. But all was dying. With destiny as its ruler, there was tranquility, but there was no life, not life as you know it. It was existence without a will to be.

"There was a realization. This awakening, this revolution, it… it was what saved the Origin World. But what had woken the Origin World was the other side of destiny, the side that caused pain and suffering, desire and thirst. Resentment, pride, anger, everything that the Crystal knew of but did not allow the Origin World to feel, until then. But it was necessary.

"It was necessary because without the concept of self-preservation, the Origin World would have failed. On the other hand, the Origin World was not meant for the strain of... emotion. In one single, absolute effort to save the Origin World…

"The people of the Origin World gathered all of the darkness, all of the hatred, all of the… chaos… and with it created another world. A dream world, a fantasy. A story where life could play out, conflict and love, order and discord together in one. And the Origin World gained from this vibrant source of life the energy to continue on, without afflicting its creation."

I don't know what the Origin World is. Maybe some plane of existence for the gods? I wonder if Cosmos comes from there. If you ask me, it sounds like it acts a bit like Terra, only nicer. She pauses. I look at her. "Cosmos, what does this have to do with me?" I ask plainly.

"Because in that fantasy world, the conflict resolved. The world turned to peace. Quiet, still peace. It had been nourishing, but it left the Origin World wanting, and death became an even greater threat than before. Each of you comes from one of these 'fantasies'. But don't misunderstand—your worlds are genuine worlds in their own rights. The Origin World was not so cruel as to make its creations mere mimics. The Origin World wove eight more fantasies after that. But there was something wrong with the final one."

"Something wrong…?" I echo. I wonder whose world that was. Cloud and Squall are pretty messed up, I'm going to guess it was either of theirs. Why isn't she telling this to all of us, again?

But then I did a quick head count in my mind. There are ten of us. Not nine.

"Yes," she nodded once, eye cast down. "Something wrong. It did something it wasn't supposed to. It connected back to the Origin World. The cause was not known. Perhaps it was because… well, the hypotheses aren't important. Zidane, I am becoming too weak to appear before you and the others without necessity. It was your world that made that connection."

My world is the final world?

"And so… your brother," Cosmos says. She pauses, sighs heavily, and stares at the empty expanse of ice for a moment.

"Kuja," I say his name, though I don't know why.

"You must kill him," she tells me softly.

"What?" Did I hear her right?

"You must kill him," she repeats. She stands, and reaches down to me. She frames my face in her hands. She looks so gentle right now. Her hands are warm. "It is something that you must do. He touched something that he was not meant to touch. And because of that, he will become Chaos' avatar. All he needs is the power of the Crystal, which he can already obtain. The only thing missing, the only thing saving us, is the fact that he does not yet have that knowledge. I fear it will only be a matter of time before he understands."

"I can't kill him" slips from my mouth before I can think of anything else to say. But she just shakes her head.

"I'm sorry. Search your heart, and you will find the celestial path to the fragment of the Crystal World that you remember. He is there as we speak. So is the Crystal."

She smiles at me, and her hands become light as air. "I'm going to rest for a while," she says to me, and then leaves me. Leaves me with a trusting smile and the most crushing words of my life.

I can't do it.


	6. Kyrie

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I'm sure there are a lot of questions about Cosmos' story from chapter four, and the answers are coming (eventually). Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Five: Kyrie

Summertime's mid-morning glow, the sigh of saltwater wind on my cheek. Autumn's leaves, the entire green world on fire in its phoenix lullaby of sleep and promised rebirth. Winter's shelter, an immaculate blanket embrace, always welcome and always just enough, never suffocating. And spring's unfurling thaw, the sensation of walking into the open air and feeling in it a new surge of strength.

Even my words, prettily spun as they are, cannot adequately describe the company of the Crystal. So it is here I flee, to the empty solace of the Crystal World.

I am the only one of us who comes here. While we sequester our treasure, the stolen light of the Crystal, away from the rest of our fragmented worlds, none of them choose to guard it from this close proximity. I think they find the absolute presence of the Crystal a little difficult to stand, but I stomach it just fine.

The condolence of isolation is quite relaxing. With no need to maintain any semblance of composure for an audience, I stretch out on the ground, my middle flat against the ground, the very same ground where I stood not so long ago, emotions raw with trance and the end of everything a sweet consolation in my head.

I rest my head against my crossed arms and close my eyes. Perhaps I will fall asleep here; goodness knows I would enjoy it. But until then… what to do, what to do? I need to do something to get my mind off that offensive being, the Emperor.

Addicted to scheming, am I?

I wonder what would be the best way to get rid of him. Isn't Firion the do-gooder from his world? Perhaps I could pull something classic: tell the Emperor that I've decided to team up with him, arrange for him to meet me somewhere, and then, shock and awe, he will find himself meeting Firion instead.

If only I actually had any faith in any of Zidane's companions. The Emperor would likely slaughter the poor fool, and I would feel guilty. A little.

I could always do it. But I don't want any blood on my hands.

What a coward's excuse. I know very well that I won't be happy in the end unless I kill him myself. So how would I do it?

I turn on my side, curl up slightly so that the Crystal is at my back. I hook my tail around my waist. I'm avoiding my own thoughts now, to be sure. But the Crystal is so reassuring…

I know what it feels like. It feels like my pulse against my fingers. Assurance that another day, another fight, another life. Until death do tear us apart, soul from vessel, cohesion, connection. The red string of fate, a common thread linking the daisy chain painstakingly, childishly knitted for quick alliances and quicker games of matchbook war, paper cannons, splinter-thin rifles and pretty doll soldiers, who have no such insurance.

"How can you stand it here?"

I jolt, and twitch into a sitting-up position quicker than I can blink. My tail disappears under my skirt; my eyes narrow. Garland?

"It's warm here," I tell him guardedly. This place is mine; I refuse to give it up to anyone else.

"Really?" Garland responds, quite conversationally. Do I spy a bit of geniality in his voice?

"All I get is scalding fire. You're such a practiced liar that you deceive just for the sake of it, without need or reason. It's impossible for anyone sworn to Chaos to feel the Crystal's warmth."

"Well, I do," I sniff. "What's with the coffee talk, Garland? Get to the point—what do you want?

"To know what you're scheming with the Emperor."

I roll my eyes. "Honestly, Garland? You would have to try harder than that if you wanted anything near the truth. But no, I'm not scheming anything with him."

"How do I know you're not lying to me now?"

"You don't," I smirk. I consider standing; pointless, since he's taller than me anyways. But he takes a few steps closer to me. Not to grab me or strike me, no. But to sit. He even takes off his helmet and I see that grizzled old face that defined so many of my cherished childhood memories.

"I suppose I don't," he shrugs. "So I'll take your word for it. I'm glad to hear that you haven't associated yourself with the Emperor despite his many attempts to… woo you. It's in my best interest."

"Why would you tell me that?" I look sideways at him. "Now I'm going to go run off and pledge my allegiance to him, because you told me that it would probably be the death of you."

"We are kidding ourselves if we genuinely believe that you hadn't thought of it already. And anyone who receives a pledge of allegiance from you is signing their own death warrant."

"I know, I killed you…"

And he sighs, almost nostalgically. "Ah, yes. That's what I've come to talk to you about. You're weak after you trance, boy. Won't be long before someone figures that out and takes advantage of that knowledge."

"Mm," I say, not really paying attention.

"I'm returning the summon spirits you gathered behind my back on Gaia."

I choke. "What?! Are you feeling suicidal? Are you ill? Have you lost your mind, you senile old man? Or have you always been this idiotic? Tell me one good reason why you should give them to me, Garland."

"The Emperor."

"Oh," I say, my voice far quieter than I intend. "Yes, the Emperor. But then why…?"

"Boy, I can't stay here much longer. The Crystals' rougher on me than it is on you, apparently. I'm leaving your summon spirits with you when I leave," he tells me, and gets up, replacing his helmet.

"I'll kill you again," I call after him.

"That's a chance I'm willing to take," he shouts back, with a solitary gruff chuckle.

Doesn't he believe me?


	7. The Devil's Trill

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I'm usually pretty shameless, as far as fanfiction authors go. But I feel bad about having written this chapter. Please enjoy!

Chapter Six: The Devil's Trill

As my feet step once more onto the Crystal World, my eyes spy a ghost sleeping like an angel. I don't believe it.

My first instinct is to call to him, so I don't. Instead I silently cut the distance between us and fold my legs under me when I get close to him, close enough. He sleeps on his side, arms stretched out just a little, maybe in his dreams obsessively embracing an imagined lover.

And without the guard of his waking mind, his tail strays from under that ridiculous skirt of his. I think of everything that makes him different from me. The way his hair turns to feathers at the top, his pale skin that makes a vampire look healthy, and how he just can't seem to keep on any weight.

He also cries out in his sleep. I didn't know that. Sorry, Cosmos. I've got my own agenda.

"Kuja," I mutter. I want to feel sorry for him, I want to abandon him, I want to wake him up and talk him out of this, I want to kill him. Instead, I do something that might get me killed instead: I stroke his hair and try to stop the faint whimper in the back of his throat.

He doesn't wake up, which is a shame. But he smiles a weary, grateful smile and shifts a little. His hand curls gently around my wrist, and doesn't let go. Honestly. Sometimes I can't believe that he's, well, who he is. Just drives it home, I guess, knowing how easily we could have become each other instead.

If you were me, Kuja, you'd still be reaching out to your lover in your sleep, knowing you won't find her in waking. Except you'd have memories, not fantasies. But you know all about that, don't you?

I won't hold Dagger ever again. Even if we win and I go back, she won't be waiting for me. So I don't want to go back.

I hate myself for the things I make myself do, sometimes. But it's all for the end result.

I pull my hand away from his and replace that out-of-mind kind touch with a knife at his throat. "Wake up, big brother."

He opens his eyes slowly, languidly. I don't think he really recognizes my voice or hears what I've said. But he figures it out soon enough. There's a flicker of fear—not surprise, genuine fear—before his face hardens into a blank expression, except that with his face, he looks like a sculptor's magnum opus.

"Really, Zidane," he asks me, sighing patiently. "How many times must you make this mistake?"

And he evaporates in a ribbon of blue light, only to reappear to my side. He stands and crosses his arms expectantly, and stares at me with one of his 'you have five seconds to prove you're not wasting my time' faces.

He didn't move behind my back. He didn't attack. What the hell, Kuja?

"All right, Zidane, what do you want? Aside from the obvious, of course," he says, looking over his shoulder. Oh. He stands between me and the Crystal. "To which I might add that you aren't maximizing your scruffy thievery skills to their highest potential. You know how tired I get nowadays," he muses. "So why didn't you just take it? I don't think I would have woken up."

"Because you've got something of mine," I tell him. "And I need that more than I need to be the one to rescue the Crystal."

His eyebrows arch high. "Really?"

I sigh heavily, and the grip on my daggers gets just a little tighter. He's such a better actor than I am. "Come on, Kuja. You know what I'm talking about! I don't have time to put up with your games."

"But you have all the time you could ever want, here in the Crystal World," he smirks, walking a half-moon path around me. "So you'll just have to spend a little more quality time with your dear older brother and humor him, because he honestly has no idea what you mean."

He would refer to himself in third person. "How'd you come back from the dead, Kuja? Who in all of Gaia would actually care enough for you to save you from a death that, in my opinion, pales in comparison to what you actually deserved?"

"Oh, Zidane. If you're attempting to appeal to my sense of guilt, then you need to tell me what you're seeking."

I blink. My guard drops. "What? I'm not guilting you about anything. That's _your_ job."

Silence.

"Seriously, no one helped you, did they," I tell him. "For someone who threw a fit because he figured out he was mortal, you just won't die. That takes skill, I gotta admit."

I watch him as he pauses, and idly coils his hair around his pinky. Then he looks up. "Zidane, if it's a thank-you you want from me, then perhaps you could have accepted it when I traveled across two continents to do so. I didn't offer a rain check."

"Funny, I don't seem to remember that," I inform him, slowly.

I frown. "But I'll tell you what I do remember. I remember showing up at the Black Mage Village one day, to find it burned to the ground. Good thing Mikoto made it. She told me what happened, Kuja. You shouldn't have left her alive."

The hair slips away from his hand like rainwater as he looks at me. He's quiet for a while. "Am I hearing you correctly?" he asks me. "Am I hearing my plucky, valiant little brother suggesting that I should have let the black mages and the Genomes die? That I should have turned my backs on them, that I shouldn't have protected them? Shouldn't have saved their lives…?"

"Kuja, you razed the Black Mage village to the ground yourself!"

He denies it. Just plainly denies it, with a simple bare-faced, 'no'.

Then he smiled, but it was that weary smile he gave me in his sleep. "I suppose, though, you must have heard differently. I am a rather easy target for blame, aren't I? But I'd think that you, of all people, would at least—"

His voice dies. He clears his throat. It's not a cough, although it sounds like a faint echo of the gagging fit that usually follows up afterwards. "After all," he continues, his voice slowly, faintly hollowing out, "why would I travel there? I'm hardly wanted. I only went to the Black Mage village in the first place to search for you."

For someone who really can't stand the thought of someone pitying him, he's warmed up quite well to the idea of wheedling it from me. "Why, so you could kill me too?" I demand. "You think that if you kill all the Genomes, all the Black Mages, and me, you'll somehow not die?"

I watch his face. I watch his subdued flinch, his halfway stopped reaction. Kuja forgets to put his mask back on. "I was worried about you!"

"When I woke up," he tells me as he draws close to me, gets in my face. "When I woke up and you weren't there, I was scared to death that you'd done something totally stupid like gone off to look for help for my sake, and gotten yourself killed! I wasn't gonna sit around and see if your dead body showed up, so what else was I supposed to do?"

"Why would you expect me to be there when you 'woke up'?"

"Well, excuse me for giving you a little more credit that that! It didn't even cross my mind that you weren't there because you had just left…"

He jerks away, looks away. Of all theatrics, he's putting out tears, but he knows better than to let them fall. He tilts his head back. "Why even bother to go through the trouble of saving me in the Iifa Tree if you were just going to abandon me in the desert?"

But he's talking normally; his typical faked theatrics are hardly the first thing on his mind if that's the case. I just don't know what to say next.

Seriously. Nothing comes to my head.

"So that's where you ended up afterwards," I tell him slowly, the words forming through the fog settled in my thoughts. I shrug. "I guess that makes sense…"

And I do have a thought. I bite my lower lip as I try to phrase it in the best way possible. "Kuja, uh," I begin, terribly eloquently, and I look up at him. "I don't know how to say this, but I think you're remembering what you want to remember."

I'm a little bit freaked out right now, to tell the truth. I look at those eyes, amazed at how just a shade off can make someone so out of place. "Kuja, you got out of the Iifa Tree on your own steam. No one helped you. No one," I tell him, "_would_ have helped you."

"Zidane, I'm not making this up!" he shouts. He's gripping his hands into such tight fists that his nails must be cutting deep into his palms. "I remember that you came after me! I remember that you didn't want me to die alone!"

He's like a little kid. I put my hands up to gesture in my own defense, and back away a bit. Easy, Kuja. "Hey, I'm not saying that you're lying. Maybe to you, that's what really happened…"

"Really, Zidane? Really, now," he retorts. He's furious. I've never seen anyone Trance outside of physical combat before, but I feel as if I'm about to witness it for the first time.

"Well, try this on for size. When I finally made it to Alexandria, the same darkness that destroyed the Black Mage village had torn your precious little girlfriend's kingdom apart. There was nothing left. And you weren't there… I thought I owed it to you, at least, to protect her."

I only remember watching her fall. And suddenly, I want to either curl up in a ball and hide, or hurt someone. Preferably him.

"My bad. I guess someone else besides you, then, just happened to mess with her mind so much that she thought it would be better to kill herself."

That look on his face. I don't know how to respond. But I don't get the chance.

He looks up, and there's a subtle flash of hatred not meant for me. He pauses, and quick thought flashes behind his indigo eyes. "Get out, Zidane," he mutters.

"Over my dead body," I respond. "We're not done yet. You've still got what I'm looking for."

And his hand closes around my collar before I know it. "No. You don't understand. You have to get out of here, now," he tells me quickly. It's like our conversation never happened. "I can't let him see you!"

I'm pushed backwards with enough force to crack my skull open if I hit the stone. But I land softly, in another place entirely. What just happened?


	8. Offertoire

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

It took forever to get the beginning for this. And then today it came out of nowhere! This dream is actually mine from last night—pretty weird, huh? It was like Watchmen and Final Fantasy all in one. Anyways, enough strange and useless information, please enjoy!

Chapter Seven: Offertoire

I'm in a city of mirrors, prismatic castles of steel and glass. The ground does not breathe. Skeleton trees rise from grates like unabashed plumes of death. And I am running out of time.

This city has elected to die, and I have been chosen among others—by whom I do not know—to survive its self-inflicted apocalypse and begin anew. But although I am offered sanctuary, I do not choose it. I race against judgment day in the acrid twilight, searching for something, someone.

Although I am different, so very different, from the people in this city, they do not look at me strangely. Instead they know me, they welcome me. They do not know that their bodies will lay the foundations for this new city. I find myself, for whatever reason, wanting to rescue them.

But I can't. Disaster eclipses the horizon, and unknown arms find me amongst the masses and drag me to underground, metal-walled safety. I don't want to go, not without the others, but the door shuts like a bank vault. I even hear the clockwork of the lock tick behind me.

There are twenty in this underground vault including myself. Twenty people, and all without a single word to say.

Zidane sits against the wall, and his eyes are red. Suddenly, the energy drains from my body and I stagger forward. Weary, I sink to the floor and lay my head against his chest. He doesn't move, either to hold me or push me away. Simple, nonjudgmental acceptance. I hear someone say softly, "that one doesn't belong."

And then I wake. I wake to a knife at my throat and no one else's hand around the handle but my brother's.

We talk. I still have yet to shake the exhausted need for comfort from my mind. The dream lingers like morning mist, even though Zidane's accusations should shatter my world. He wants something. But even before I can even begin to decrypt his intentions, I feel the presence of Chaos.

Some people are born with naturally bad timing. They're _those _people. The ones that always stumble onto the most awkward part of the conversation, the ones that can't tell jokes to save his or her life, the ones that don't know when they're interrupting something important.

Sephiroth is one of those people.

Sephiroth, the one who delights in discovering who it is that a person values most, and then killing them just to see the pain of loss. His achieved level of heartlessness puts even me to shame. Hopefully Zidane didn't land somewhere inconvenient like in a lava pit or a bottomless abyss, but honestly, both of those alternatives are preferable. I need Zidane alive long enough to figure out if I'm crazy or not.

I'm not crazy, by the way.

I watch Sephiroth as he grimaces. "I can't stand that thing," he says, looking pointedly up at the Crystal. And oh, look, he brought friends. My favorite people in the entire continuum of existence, the Emperor and that old woman.

"But I feel a slight presence of the light," he adds. "Not from the Crystal."

"Maybe it's me," I smirk. "What can I do for you three fine creatures spawned from Chaos today?"

Sephiroth has this complex. He thinks he's intimidating. "Garland ordered us all to meet up here. We just decided to come early," he replies, drawing closer until I can feel his breath. Ugh.

And then… total silence for a long, long second.

"What a fast heartbeat you have, little bird. What are you afraid of?" he whispers.

I smile back. "Your sense of fashion," I delicately respond. "I haven't seen Cloud, so I'll just have to take your word for it: is everyone on your world so obsessed with this whole black and metal look? It must be terribly dreary," I sigh.

A heavy hand falls on my shoulder, making me cringe. "Hey, Sephiroth," a rough voice amiably growls from somewhere behind me. "How's it going?"

Jecht. He uses the hand already on my shoulder to push me out of the way, and starts up a conversation with Sephiroth. Just as I'm free, a hulking mass of black armor materializes in front of me.

"Kuja, there's something I must discuss with you. It's about…"

Somehow around Golbez's hulking shoulder armor, I see that old woman visibly wilt as she and the Emperor join Jecht's conversation with Sephiroth. Somehow, Golbez doesn't seem as enthusiastic to be talking to me as one would think. Jecht must have recruited him, but for what good?

It just dawns on me that Jecht and Golbez had made a pre-meditated effort to help me, when the seekers of darkness appear: the Cloud of Darkness, Exdeath, and Kefka. And then Garland arrives.

I glare daggers at him for bringing everyone here, as we fall silent. I find that the Emperor has somehow managed to stand close to me; I instinctively take a step backwards. I run up against Jecht and Golbez.

"Dang, I can't see what's going on around your huge armor, Golbez. Do you really have to wear it everywhere?" Jecht says casually, and then worms his way into the inch of space between myself and the Emperor.

"Sorry, but it's difficult when a certain someone's hair is half as tall as they are," Golbez jokes right back, and then somehow I'm not standing next to Ultimecia anymore.

"Let us do this quickly," Garland says. "I know that all of you find the Crystal's presence painful—at least in its present state."

"That's why we're here, then?" Kefka jibes. I can only imagine Garland's expression behind his helmet's monstrous façade.

"One of Cosmos' warriors has found the way to this world. There are no more secure places to hide the Crystal, whole as it is. There is an alternative, one that will ensure that Cosmos will not obtain the Crystal. At least, not without our deaths."

After that artfully cryptic remark, he raises his hand to the Crystal. I feel the dark surge of Chaos in the back of my throat, and suddenly this world is cold. The Crystal shatters, into ten poisoned shards. I flinch as one of them nestles into my chest and disappears.

The Crystal… it's gone. Garland speaks more, but I do not hear him. I stand in faded paralysis until only Jecht and Golbez remain aside from Garland himself.

"Why did you break the Crystal?" I demand. My voice is calm. Cold.

"Do you like your new bodyguards?" Garland says to me.

I look at him. "First you give me back my summons, and now you arrange for my constant protection. What might I ask do you have in mind for me, dear Garland?"

"Well, they needed to do something to pledge their allegiance to me instead of the Emperor. I figured that if they followed through, then they were serious. Sometimes you have to do things you wouldn't do otherwise, for the sake of your leader."

"Did you fear that the Emperor would steal the Crystal for himself…?" I wonder aloud.

"Be thankful that you know as much as you already do," he growls grudgingly. "Go back to playing chess with the lives of Cosmos' warriors."

I just smile.


	9. Cantilena

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

A lot of people are commenting that the narrators are making things pretty confusing. So I went back to my original Word document and found the sentence I left out of the intro's author's note: "this fic is based around the principle of the two narrators occasionally lying to each other, to everyone around them, to themselves, and to you, the reader."

Sooo… Please enjoy!

Chapter Eight: Cantilena

"Boy, have you been crying? Your eyes are red."

I have yet to think of a way to make these two useful. I have no personal complaints with Tidus and Cecil, and seeing as I have no real concrete idea of what I plan to do with myself, I can't think of a way that they might be a threat.

What am I doing here? That's a question I ask myself almost constantly.

I look across the great hall. With nowhere else to go now, thanks to Garland's genius, I am confined to his ruined palace. I wonder what the others do, and if it's any more interesting than my lot right now. I doubt it.

"You have a tattoo the size of an obese moogle emblazoned across your chest. I wouldn't talk if I were you," I respond without even looking in Jecht's direction.

"At least a tattoo is manly," Jecht retorts in his hoarse voice. "Can't say that about eyeshadow."

I give up, and stare him in the face, with all the expression of a statue. "If you have something against men wearing makeup, I suggest you take it up with Kefka. Or the Emperor. While you're at it, why don't you speak to Cloud of Darkness and Ultimecia about indecent exposure? And I'm wearing more than you are," I add as he opens his mouth to speak again.

Golbex clears his throat. "I think we can all agree that our group of companions is not the first place to look for anything resembling the ordinary."

Thank you, Golbez. Now I can go back to thinking.

I've heard before that I don't look quite right in sunlight. I'm an afterimage from the rising predawn mists, an ephemeral daytime ghost that with the bat of eye, proves itself to be no more tangible than a dream, no more permanent than a lifeline.

I need the iron solemnity of clouds, or better yet, the grounding curtain of rain or the harsh muffler of night. With so much darkness as my palette, it is impossible for the sun to outshine me. I am always the brightest.

What is it that Zidane meant? I have nothing of his, except for a tenth of the crystal. There must be something else.

I can think of one thing, but it was a mistake. A terrible mistake, but he obviously doesn't know that. But then it would be something I cannot give him in return, unless he's speaking on a metaphorical level.

Zidane? Impossible. He's certainly not that intelligent. In any case, I don't have time for him to attempt to sound intelligent.

I'm choosing to ignore everything else, by the way. I know what I remember. Zidane, if you're going to dabble in mind games, then don't test your skills on the master. Come to me, my loveable little brother, come to me and tell me what it is you want so I can properly keep it from you.

"What did Garland ask you both to do, exactly?" I say suddenly, punctuated with a short cough.

"He asked us to keep you away from the Emperor," Golbez answers me.

"He asked us to keep the Emperor away from him," Jecht corrects him. "There's a difference. What's the deal between you and the Emperor, anyways?"

"Nothing," I snap, and then realize how harsh my voice sounded in that instant. "Nothing personal, I mean," and suddenly I find the old worn stone floors very interesting. "Garland must be afraid of what would happen if the two of us joined forces."

I clear my throat to intercept another cough before it seizes me. I catch it just in time.

"That would be keeping you away from the Emperor, not the other way around," Jecht grumbles.

"Why don't you?" Golbez says immediately after, and instantly draws identically shocked faces from both Jecht and myself. "I don't mean to sound as if I'm suggesting it," he clarifies, "but… I don't see why you haven't. There was a time when I would have done it in a heartbeat, even if I intended to abandon him or kill him at the first chance."

"But how could I, after—?" the question slips from my mouth before I even know to keep it quiet.

"What happened, specifically?" Golbez wants to know. I shake my head, and then I suddenly find myself curled into a ball with my head between my knees, my entire body racked by a choking fit.

It lasts for an eternity. When my body feels like it has absorbed the shock of a thousand summons, I swallow the blood lingering in my mouth and breathe in slowly, ever so slowly. My vision dances as I lift my head.

"You've been coughing for as long as I can remember," Jecht frowns. His voice has lost its edge. "Are you sick or something?"

I smile to no one. "Yes. I'm sick. It doesn't sound like it, but I'm getting better. So don't worry yourselves too much over my well-being."

"Don't have to ask twice," he responds. The growl returns. He turns to Golbez and they begin to chat about something insipid and unimportant. But for that moment… I wonder why they accepted Garland's offer, apart from Garland's provided answer.

But I don't ask. I don't wish to know the truth. Just in case it's not the answer I want.

I did not kill your pretty queen, Zidane. I know that's the answer you want to hear. But it's the answer I can't give you. You'll simply have to settle for the truth instead.

When Chaos came for our world—came for me, I suppose I mean—it was without rhyme or reason. Its only intent was to crack our world in two and leave each of us stranded on one side of the divide between the light and the darkness. In return for saving me, I decided to save her.

Her kingdom under fire, and she would not take my hand. She chose to fall to her death instead of placing her life in my care, even if just for that single necessary moment.

Am I so far beyond redemption? If I'm so far into the darkness, then why am I so cold? Why am I so… afraid? Because I am afraid, and Sephiroth was right to sense it. If I close my eyes, I can still remember perfectly.

"_You think you're so much better than me, you sniveling military dog," I sneer. I don't struggle. I don't give him the satisfaction. _

"_You're nothing more than a cowering usurper. I'm pursuing my birthright! My eternal crown is sleeping in my blood," he hisses. His arms lock mine tight at the small of my back. _

"_Your precious birthright—" I smirk. "Dearest Sephiroth, you went crazy and your insane mind exploited the fact that you were engineered to convince yourself that you were a god compared to the rest of your world because you wanted a reason to get back at the people who used you."_

"_You say that like you know what you're talking about, you little punk. Speaking from personal experience?"_

_I know this isn't what he intends—it had better not be, anyways—but I can feel his gloved hands slick and sweating against my bare skin, and I don't like it. Not at all. I look straight ahead. I don't turn. I don't look at him. _

"_It was my desire to turn my world into a beautiful place, with a soul and with life. You longed for nothing more than destruction, moving from world to world and spreading your sick and twisted darkness. Did you think that would fill the emptiness in your heart that your trust in humanity left behind?"_

"_And just how were you planning on keeping your newly remodeled Terra alive? You remind me of someone. An accident whose name was Kadaj—quite the coincidence, the similarity between your names… must be fate. Do you want to know what happened to him?"_

_He's enjoying this, judging by the intimate fall of his voice in those last words. "Why don't you tell me, since you obviously can barely contain your enthusiasm?"_

"_You wouldn't be interested. It's a story you've already heard," he says casually. "You know how it is. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made to produce the best end result. The best… son," he adds delicately._

_My heart is pounding in my cheeks. Even without Sephiroth's unsolicited assistance, my body aches as if I've been battered by the tides for days. I am dying, after all._

_And then he appears._

_Sephiroth holds me, but now it's the Emperor's turn to play. And the game he plays is a far more wicked one, because while Sephiroth tortures for the fun of it, it's the Emperor who has a goal in mind. _

"_Fever," the Emperor pronounces as his fingers brush my cheeks, my forehead without distinction. "Kuja, you worry me."_

_His fingers course through my hair, smoothing it out at his discretion. When he spends an inordinate amount of time attempting to tame the gravity-defying strands at my crown, I want to retch. _

_He proceeds to my mussed-up jacket. "Get your hands away from me!" bursts from my lips before I can control myself. _

"_So angry," he sighs. As if he's disappointed._

_And then…_

_Footsteps. "Let him go. I need him more than you do right now. You can play with him later." Garland._

_The Emperor pauses. "We'll talk later," is all he says. It is enough for Garland to become displeased. He knows what the Emperor wants._

When I tune back into Jecht and Golbez's conversation, they are casually discussing the difference between Kefka's psychotically clownish makeup and my own. As if our much more meaningful conversation was nothing more than an invention of my own imagination.

I was once fearless. What happened?

I still remember the voice from my dream. 'That one doesn't belong,' it had said. Is it because I don't know what I want? That I have no purpose?

I do know what I want. I want to live. Perhaps my aspirations are too humble for the company I now keep. Everyone else can afford to dream their delusions of grandeur, but my time is running out. My dreams of power have burned away like morning mist in the daunting face of sunlight. The sun will always be brightest.


	10. The Pines Above the Catacombs

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Bartz has been really tough for me to characterize for a long time. Now I've got it (I think…), even though he doesn't have that big of a part in this chapter. I'm also really excited about giving the Warrior of Light a role that goes beyond 'let's do this for the sake of Cosmos'. Please enjoy and review!!

Chapter Nine: The Pines Above the Catacombs

I've had my fill of this arctic wasteland of a world, but we still stay here. We gather around Cosmos' throne, even though she's nowhere in sight. The conversation: what did you think when you first saw them? is going somewhere I'd rather not talk about.

"Sephiroth was an idolized hero. That's all I knew," Cloud says. And he's silent for a few solid moments before we figure out that he's done. I think I'm turning into Cloud: I don't like to talk about Kuja. Whenever Cloud talks, there's this veil of guilt that twists itself around him and suffocates him. I wonder if that's what's keeping me quiet.

"I know what you mean," the Warrior of Light tells him. "Garland… was like that, too, once."

"Well, Jecht's my dad, so I don't remember what I thought when I first saw him," Tidus jokes. Those of us who laugh do laugh; we can't help it after we hear Tidus' infectious chuckle. I figure now's the best time to talk, while we're keeping it light.

"I don't know about you guys, but my first thoughts were, 'wow, she's hot. Not too well endowed, but hot'." This made Terra throw a 'you pig' glare at me.

"Well, Kuja is a lot cuter than the Cloud of Darkness," Onion Knight says in my defense. Next to me, Bartz snorts. I forgot—Bartz is the only one I've talked to about Kuja, even though Cecil's been quick to jump on the connection between his Lunarian ancestry and mine.

But this means that Bartz is the only one who knows that Kuja isn't a girl.

I clear my throat. "Uh, then I heard him speak, and I kind of died a little inside. I still can't get over how I spent an entire twenty seconds checking out my older brother."

"Wait, that's a guy?!" Tidus stammers, and then covers his face with his hands. "That's so not awesome—I did the exact same thing."

The Warrior of Light frowns. Seriously, that's a mouthful. Onion Knight, too. Someone needs to get them better names. "When would you have had the chance to see Zidane's brother? Was anyone else with you?"

"Uh, not really," Tidus told him, shrugging.

"That's dangerous," the Warrior of Light tells him harshly as he stands up. "You can't go anywhere by yourself. We aren't Cosmos' warriors because we can hold our own against those that oppose us. Our strength lies in our teamwork. Our friendship—" he adds, and for some reason his glare spends a heavy moment locked with Squall's.

"What were you doing?" he demands, returning to Tidus, who stands up too.

"Hey, since when do you have the right to go around interrogating me like this?! I wasn't trying to stir anything up. It's easy for you to be all 'I don't care about what's going on, I'm just here to save the world', because you've got it easy! You don't have your old man over there on the other side!!"

The Warrior of Light is silent for a moment. "What were you doing," he repeats calmly.

"I wanted to see my dad, all right? Maybe talk things over with him, because he's sure as hell not over there because of something he believes. It's because of Sin— but I didn't get to, so chill out, all right?" he almost shouts at the Warrior of Light.

"He wasn't alone. He had your brother—" he says then, glaring at Cecil, "and yours," he seethes at me, "with him. He seemed pretty cozy with Golbez and Kuja, too. So I guess I wouldn't have done any good if I'd talked to him after all."

"Wait just a moment," Cecil interjects. "How dare you stereotype my older brother with people like Kuja and the rest of Chaos' followers?!" This is turning into a fight, and I wonder how much longer I should go before someone steps in. I look around and meet everyone else's wide-eyed stares.

Bartz gets up and clears his throat. "Uh, guys? Maybe we're taking this just the teeniest bit too far. Why don't we sit down and—"

Ignored. Finally, Squall, of all people, stands up and barks, "shut up! You're all being stupid. What's any of this matter if you're all just going to get defensive about it?!"

And now everyone's quiet. Tidus sighs, shrugs, and sits down like it wasn't anything to him in the first place. Cecil blinks, and does the same as if he didn't know what came over him. "I apologize," he adds, and Tidus casually accepts it.

Squall looks around at everyone, and then at the Warrior of Light. "That being said, since we're obviously a bunch of idiots when we get together like this, I don't see any problem in any of us going off by ourselves. We were all alone at some point in time. I don't know about any of you guys, but I can take care of myself."

"Wait, Squall—" the Warrior of Light calls after him as he turns around and leaves. I add my voice too.

"Squall, come back here!!"

He either doesn't hear or doesn't care, and then he's gone. The Warrior of Light takes the opportunity to address all of us. "No one can move alone. Especially now that they've split the Crystal," the Warrior of Light adds, his gaze falling.

"What?" Onion Knight gasps.

"What do you mean, 'split the Crystal'?" Firion wants to know, but he doesn't show any shock. He's just resigned, like a tactician taking in the conditions of battle.

"Another one of us apparently moved on their own as well," the Warrior of Light says, "but I don't mean to cause another quarrel, and I do not know that person's identity, so the point of whom is not important, aside from the fact that Garland detected our presence close to where Chaos hid the crystal, and decided it would be safer to split the crystal into ten shards and give each of them to his subordinates."

Oh. That was me, wasn't it? Crap. I just made it ten times harder to rescue the Crystal.

"I would not recommend approaching any of Chaos' followers for any reason, particularly personal reasons. We can only assume that they will take any contact as an attempt to take their part of the Crystal. I'm sure that it would be an understatement to say that they will defend their shard with their lives, which would likely prove fatal to any one of us alone. Someone, please go after Squall."

Tidus stands up. "I'll do it. I'm not his biggest fan, but I started it. I'm way faster than he is, anyways. I'll catch up to him in no time."

"Just be careful. And no side trips," the Warrior of Light adds, with half of a smile.

"Whatever," Tidus tells him, and goes off. Easygoing Tidus must not be as quick to forgive as I would have thought.

Suddenly, Cloud's eyes get wide. "No, wait—" he protests, and then seems to catch himself. "Never mind," he tells us, and then retreats back into meditative silence.

A pause keeps the Warrior of Light for a second, but then he lets it go. "I think we should take some time to think. A different strategy will be needed now. If you feel that you would think best in another world besides this one, I have no objection. But at the very least, go in pairs."

I watch as Terra and Onion Knight—he's seriously crushing on her—disappear, as do Firion and Cecil. One could say that out of all of us, they know the most about what they're doing and they work well together, so they like to keep their numbers down. Our group looks a little smaller without Tidus, but at least Cloud isn't as much of a loner as Squall.

"Go on," I wave off Bartz and Cloud as they each shoot me twin hesitant looks. "I just want to talk to the Warrior of Light for a second."

"Fine with me, just don't take too long," Bartz tells me and they do the same. I wait a second to get myself together.

"Hey, sorry that Tidus kind of blew up on you like that. I guess he's got something really personal going on with his dad," I tell him as a sort of apology in Tidus' place. "Hey, you coming with us?"

The Warrior of Light shakes his head. "I think I'll go with Cecil and Firion. Zidane…"

He turns away from me.

"I can't remember my father's face."


	11. Death and the Maiden

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I didn't realize until I wrote this chapter how much I missed working with Cloud's voice. But he's definitely a stronger Cloud than my last one. I think I like him better this way, because goodness knows this fic has enough people wandering around feeling sorry for themselves already! Thinking back, I probably unintentionally wrote this Cloud as taking up where my last Cloud left off, in terms of character development. Well, at least I'm consistent, right?

And if Bartz's advice towards the end sounds kind of like a fortune cookie… that's where it came from. Please enjoy and review!!

Chapter Ten: Death and the Maiden

I can't remember my father's face. What's that even mean? Is he an orphan? Only, the way that the Warrior of Light said it, it sounded like there was something way deeper going on in his head. He sounded scared. Paralyzed.

He doesn't have a real name. Warrior of Light—that sounds like some fairy tale that you tell five year olds when you're trying to get them to sleep. Like Prince Charming, or the most beautiful princess in the kingdom.

I think back to Cosmos' account of the first world. That it hadn't been enough to keep the Origin World going. Just like, as a kid gets older, stories about the most beautiful princess stop working and you have to think up something more complex. I wonder if his world was the first world.

In those bedtime stories, you don't hear about the most beautiful princess's family except to say that she lived with them in a big castle, unless they're evil. They might as well not even be there. And for a first try, who's to say that the Origin World didn't leave out some details, didn't get it exactly right the first time around?

These thoughts aren't really that great company for walking alone. But when I finally catch up to Bartz and Cloud, it doesn't take more than a second for me to figure out that something bad happened while I was gone.

I'm rooted to the ground in this ethereal underground world—I'm reminded of the Iifa Tree—as I pause.

Bartz rips the hem out of his tunic, shakes his head and mutters something to Cloud, who is on the ground, sitting up with Bartz's help.

"What… happened?" I breathe as Bartz notices me and looks up without even drawing his attention away from Cloud. He ties the ripped cloth over Cloud's bicep.

"Eh, might've had a bit of a scuffle while you were gone. Guy showed up, made some cracks about this girl named Aerith, about a guy named Kadaj. And about Tidus—enough to start a brawl. If that's what he was looking for, he certainly got one. Cloud definitely came out on top."

"I knew," Cloud mutters, closing his eyes for a moment as if to steady his head. "As soon as Tidus said that he had been looking for his father, I knew. Tidus isn't smart enough to sneak around like that. Someone found him, and someone made the connection. We have to find him. I'll go find him. Sephiroth wants to pick a fight, then that's fine with me. I have the strength to fight him as many times as it takes for him to be a memory."

All this mess just because Squall decided to stalk off.

"You're not having a showdown with anyone now, that's for sure. You need your beauty sleep," Bartz told him, shaking his head as he got to his feet. "And so do I. Covering your back during that little skirmish wasn't exactly a piece of cake."

"Tidus might not be alive by the time we're well rested, Bartz," Cloud said pointedly.

"If he caught up to Squall, then he's good," Bartz protested. "I'm not saying that I'm abandoning the guy, I'm just being realistic."

"Trust me: he didn't make it to Squall. You want to talk about abandoning people? I've had enough of abandoning people for the rest of my life. I can manage. I will manage. Let's go."

We don't move. It's as if we just heard Cloud speak for the first time.

"What?" he demands sharply.

"What in the name of the winds happened to you," Bartz says softly, without an ounce of the lightheartedness that his words sound like they should have had. He sounds worried, if anything.

"I didn't abandon Aerith. And I didn't abandon Zack. But I might as well have. So I abandoned everybody. Barrett, Cid, Vincent, Reeves, Yuffie, Red XIII. Rufus. Marlene. Tifa. My entire world. I stopped listening. I tried to lead a simpler life, think about things in easier ways, so that it wouldn't hurt to live so much. Because of that, I didn't hear a cry for help in disguise, and I abandoned Kadaj too. I let him die, and because I let him die, I'm dealing with Sephiroth now. That enough for you? Let's go," he repeats, and slings his huge wedge of a sword over his shoulder.

I see him wince a little as he strains his arm where Bartz had to bandage his wound. "Sometimes," I say, and I don't know why, "you have to abandon people."

For someone with so much weight to carry around, he moves fast. "I don't want to hear you say that ever again," he looks down at me and tells me, soft as a whisper but sharp like fire. "Let's go get that stupid jock," Cloud says louder and leads the way.

Bartz gives me a 'what are you going to do?' look with a shrug before following Cloud.

I did abandon him. I felt bad about it, but I didn't have to wait long before I found out that I'd made the right choice. He killed her. He killed Garnet. My Garnet.

Before I know it, I step onto crystal ground and realize where our search has taken us. To the Crystal World.

"Isn't that," Cloud mutters to us. "Hey—" he shouts.

"No, wait just a second—" Bartz calls out too, his hand outstretched in plea.

In the flash of an instant, I see Kuja kneeling over Tidus, his hair falling over his shoulder so that it hides his face. He holds Tidus' hand; his other palm covers a bleeding gap in Tidus' heart. And then he looks up, panicked, and with no more effort than it takes to flinch, he disappears.

"What just happened?" Bartz says, blinking, as Cloud doesn't miss a beat. He drops down on a knee, checks out Tidus' wound before I even recover.

"Well, look what we found," Cloud says with muted, exhausted relief. The spell breaks and I join Cloud and Bartz. "Tidus, alive and well against all odds."

Tidus shakes his head as he swings up to a sitting position, legs crossed, as obviously injured as if he'd just taken a nice, long nap. "Didn't even get to thank him. Probably thinks I'm an ungrateful bastard."

Bartz snorts, while I try to make sense of what Tidus just said.

"Wait, what?" I stammer.

"Tell us what happened," Cloud interrupts me, his voice pointedly calm as he directs a quick glare in my direction.

Tidus sighs and shakes his head. "I didn't even figure out where Squall went. This guy in a big black coat with long silver hair just randomly attacked me."

"Sephiroth," Cloud breathes. "Sorry. Go on."

"That's his name? Wait, that's your guy, right? Okay, so I put up a good fight, just so you guys don't think I'm a wimp or anything. But he got me, right through here—" he says, putting his hand over his beating heart, "and just left without a single word. I…"

He stares off. "I thought I was going to die. Really, really thought I was going to die. I lost a lot of blood really quickly, but I don't remember. I guess my heart spazzed out, what with having a freakin' nine foot sword stuck through it. Just as I blacked out, I came back. It hurt like nothing else, but your brother really knows his healing magic, Zidane. He saved my life."

"Did he say anything?" I ask meekly, afraid of incurring the wrath of Cloud's death-glare.

"He asked me, 'are you Jecht's son?'" Tidus replies. "I nodded, it was all I could do. He seemed like he was about to say something else, but then you guys showed up and spooked him."

"Makes sense," Cloud mutters to himself.

"Hey, if you know what's going on, share," Bartz demands with a weary laugh.

Cloud looks off into space for a moment before speaking. "If we fight as much as we do, imagine how ten of Chaos' followers get along. I would say that there's some argument between factions… Tidus, you said that you saw Cecil's brother and Kuja with your father. Assuming that Sephiroth has decided to join a few others, then he would…"

He pauses. "He enjoys, how do I say it? Finding out who it is a person cares about, and then taking them away—killing them," he clarifies. "So he's got something against your father, or has reason to bring pressure to bear upon your father. Which leads to the question… what are they fighting over?"

Bartz frowns. "Something that will bring them to power, I'm thinking. But it doesn't have to be that obvious. There's something corrupting their alliance, that much we can guess. We need to know more. But can't we guess that it's something that Tidus' dad is closer to than Sephiroth?"

"Definitely," I conclude. Tidus doesn't seem to be really following what's going on, but I guess that's understandable, considering that he very nearly died just now. "I just don't understand why Kuja would help you, Tidus."

"Zidane, I'd swear on—on something really important. The Crystal. I'd swear on the Crystal that my old man isn't made up of the same stuff that people like Cloud's Sephiroth and... and Squall's Ultimecia, and Firion's Emperor are made of. And Cecil'd say the exact same thing about his brother. What's that say if Kuja hangs out with them?"

"It means he's playing them," I tell them slowly, biting every syllable. "Or that we just don't know enough. Or both."

Bartz rolls his eyes comically. "Zidane, be willing to believe in anything that's good. I don't get that opportunity—I mean, I've got to deal with a tree. Exdeath is a tree."

I frown. "A tree?!"

"Yeah. Why, do you have something against trees?"

"One tree," I laugh. "But seriously. I gave Kuja the benefit of the doubt way before everyone else here thought it was cool. Now I know better. You're wasting your time," I sigh.


	12. L'Oiseau de Feu

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

It's pretty much official, judging by how peeved Cloud gets whenever Zidane hates on Kuja, that Cloud is in fact the very same Cloud that chilled in 'Dissonant'. Just something fun to consider for everyone who read that one…

Please enjoy and review!!

Chapter Eleven: L'Oiseau de Feu

The Emperor took umbrage to the protection that Garland organized for me, and Sephiroth knew just the thing needed to impose a little intimidation.

But it didn't work. Nice try, Sephiroth. You'll have to be smarter than that.

The stars are nice in Jecht's world. Not too many of them are visible, thanks to the electric lights, but the ones that do shine are bright and clear.

I watch Jecht as he shrugs. I've been ignoring his conversation with Golbez. Just because I have to be here with them doesn't mean I have to pay attention.

"I don't know. Tidus is my son. No matter what happens, no matter what I do to him or he does to me in all this mess, I'll still love him. I wasn't the best father, far from it. But I taught him a few things, left him a path to follow. He doesn't know how to listen, but that's nothing a good punch to the gut won't solve. Hard not to listen when you can't stand, right?"

"Jecht, if you're trying to improve how he perceives you, then maybe—" Golbez starts.

"Ah, he can take it," Jecht interrupts, waving a hand in dismissal. "He's a good, strong kid. Too strong for his own good, sometimes. Lets the blows fly before his thoughts can catch up. Gotta slow that boy down a bit. Still, doesn't matter…"

I stop listening. Why do I find every single person I'm forced to associate with so appalling? I entertain the thought that it might just be me, but that would be ridiculous. There does exist the genuine possibility that I just might be this unlucky.

"Kuja, have you ever—"

What is this? Why do people want to talk to me? Do I look like I'm starving for conversation or something?

"What," I snap at Jecht, who cut himself off halfway.

"No," Golbez tells Jecht solemnly, shaking his head. "What woman would put up with that?"

"Doesn't necessarily have to be a woman," Jecht responds conversationally.

Despite my appearances, I do in fact… never mind. I narrow my eyes and my next breath simmers in my throat. "You wanted my attention, and for better or worse, now you have it. What do you want?"

"Don't get your feathers all ruffled," Jecht laughs. That joke also just keeps getting funnier every time I hear it. "You're the one who needs two bodyguards."

"Jecht was married," Golbez says then. "So Jecht was wondering if you had someone waiting for you when you did, well, whatever it is that you did. I said no, but he wants to hear from you."

I tilt my head thoughtfully. "You mean if I ever loved someone?" And I laugh. "Love… the freedom to chain yourself and choose to ignore the links pressing into your wrists."

I love you… three words I'd said so many times.

Three words I'd never once been given the chance to truly mean.

Three words I'd heard so often, but never once meant for me.

"If you're into that kind of stuff," Jecht mutters. Does he think I'm deaf? I think it's more than perfectly fair to say that I've had enough.

"Honestly, I can hear you! I can hear every little snide comment you make over there!" I exclaim suddenly. I'm angry, and I don't have the slightest clue why. It's not like they're saying things I haven't heard before. I suppose I expected differently from them, and now I learn that they're no better after all.

"What is wrong with all of you? Why can't you find something else to laugh about besides me? Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

"Kid, take the bench for a second. I was just—"

"You just what!?"

Golbez holds up his hand, turns to Jecht. "Jecht, don't bother trying to explain yourself. This one apparently never gained the ability to lighten up once in a while."

It's not lightening up when I'm the only one who's under fire. I'm already singled out, what does it matter if I just take it to the next step? I'll do it first; I'll isolate myself before they have a chance to cast me out on their own terms. It's what I intended from the beginning, anyways. I never wanted to fit in with any of them. I certainly never wanted their approval. Their acceptance. Their kindness.

My stomach coils at the mere thought of it.

"What are you both trying to cover up, anyways?" I poisonously sneer. "I'm easy to pick on, aren't I? Everyone else seems to think so, anyways, so I'm sure you're having a lovely time just following along. But what imperfections are you turning your backs on when you nitpick at mine? Does criticizing me make you a better father, Jecht?"

They're silent. Good.

"Well?" I snap. My fingers impatiently drum against my skirt. I take in a single breath, waiting, waiting. Waiting for something. I know better than to expect something so endearing as an apology. Since when do people treat me with enough respect to give me even that small human allowance? I'm not even that, after all. Human.

Not that too many of my cherished companions are human, but few of them were manufactured in a cold, heartless lab like I was, nursed on tubes that a child would never understand are meant to substitute for nourishment. A child only feels the needles taped down over his skin, the gauze hiding nothing.

And fewer still are forced to practically genuflect to their blessed creator to this day.

That single breath tears me apart. How pathetic—I can't even depend on my own lungs anymore. Undoing the fragile silence that I managed to cast on both Jecht and Golbez, my body folds in on itself; I am forced to my knees. I spit up blood.

Heal, I pray inside my mind, as I release the slow soothing numbing touch of magic into my being. Please heal. Not that white magic can sink to my genes, where it's truly needed. Not even my magic, for all it's worth, can fix the mistake I am.

"Boy, you're going to have to play nicer if you want people to stop hating you," Jecht growls. "You're not exactly Prince Charming."

He has no idea.

"So Tidus is your son," I tell him. Darkness glowers in my eyes, in my heart. I feel the desire to inflict pain—emotional pain, the best kind—claw at me. I want to tell Jecht just how much he owes me at this very moment.

His eyes narrow. "Yeah. What's it to you…"

I smirk. "He said I looked nice." I remember. The poor boy was so delirious when I got to him, I wasn't sure if even my magic could heal him. I don't know how he managed to stay conscious after losing that much blood.

"Oh yeah?" Jecht growls. He seizes my throat. Golbez doesn't even move to stop him. Speckles dance in front of my eyes as I'm forced to meet Jecht's glowing red glare. "What'd you do to him?! Answer me!!"

"Nothing," I protest. "Honestly—"

"Nothing," he spits back at me. "Well, you'd better see to it that you have 'nothing' to do with him in the future. You don't go anywhere near my son. I'm the only one who's going to deal with him. Got that?"

He drops me and I get to my feet. "Don't come after me. I don't care what Garland orders you to do; if either of you come near me again, I'll kill you. I don't want or need anyone to protect me!"

I turn my back on them, and I hear something that distinctly sounds like, "wasn't planning on it. If you need protection, then it's better if you're just left to chance. It's not hard to tell who's the weakest link around here."

"Jecht, maybe you should—"

I leave.

And where do I go but to our enchanting center of operations, where I find solace waiting there for me?

Oh, Sephiroth. Look at you. Your guard is down, and there's someone who has the taste of blood on his lips this fine afternoon.

I remind myself to thank dearest Cloud in person for doing my dirty work for me. Now I don't have to bother with all the fuss of getting the swordsman to his knees; now I'm free to do what it is I do best.

He gags, his sword parallel to his side as he gathers his breath. He's bleeding, just like I was.

"Sephiroth, my goodness, what happened to you?"

I kick the hilt of his precious Masamune out of range.

Kneeling down in front of him, I see faintness flicker in his eyes. The poor thing, he's so weak. I frame his face with my hands. "Sephiroth, let me heal you. You would like that, wouldn't you? If you don't get help soon, you'll surely die."

"Kuja, you sniveling puppet," he coughs. "Stop your act. I know what this is about," he adds. Good; there's no room for confusion between the both of us.

"Shh, Sephiroth, you're not making any sense," I console him, my fingertips filtering into his harsh military polished silver hair. "Won't you let me heal you? All you need to do is say the word…"

He coughs. A tear of blood trickles from his mouth in place of words. It's so perfect I can't resist; I kiss him, even though the thought makes me flinch, and it brushes away the blood. It stains my lips, a touch too feral for my ordinary tastes. But with fire burning at the memory tucked into my mind's eye, ordinary measures are simply too banal for this valued customer.

Sephiroth recoils with disgust. I withdraw, lift my hands to his temples. There is magic that I know, tortuous magic that not even the darkest of black mages have in their repertoire, cruel magic that I wove myself, spells that only someone like me could invent.

He's not a crier, which is a pity. But he closes his eyes and shudders with the pain. I don't remember for certain, but I believe that this spell is characterized by the sensation of one's body tearing itself apart from the inside out.

"Sephiroth, do you want me to heal you?"

"Kuja, you—"

"Yes, yes," I laugh. "I can heal you. That's what I've been trying to tell you this entire time. Why won't you ask for my help? Is it that you're too proud to ask? To implore, to plead, to… beg?"

I pour my acid-fast poison into him.

"Beg, Sephiroth," I whisper, soft as seduction, in his ear, before locking his gaze with mine. "Beg like I did—"

A tear. A single, beautiful tear. It sparkles like the brightest, most adoration-worthy jewel, every facet turning crystalline focus on the fear in his eyes.

Fear.

Fear stares me down from the brink of Sephiroth's glowing unnatural irises. And knowledge that I could very well kill him now if I chose, and he would be unable to lift a finger in his own defense.

I let go, throwing him to the side as I stagger to my feet and stalk off.

His fear didn't erase a single thing.


	13. Joy of Man's Desiring

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I just realized that for all that I hate cliffhangers, I seem to be putting in a fair amount of them. I'm sorry, guys! Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twelve: Joy of Man's Desiring

One of Zidane's fast friends is a rather morose character who I imagine spent a lot of his days skulking about in corners, cultivating his antisocial idiosyncrasies into a full-fledged way of life. Mostly black leather; is that really necessary? Sure, the ensemble has a few accents to uplift it from its faux-grungy impoverished look, but I have great respect for the woman that puts up with him, I sincerely do.

No wonder he's Ultimecia's; she probably talked to him so much that he decided to kill her just so he wouldn't have to listen to her anymore. In any case, the sight of him puts me in a rather depressing mood, so I'm not going to spend much time with him. Much time with him conscious, that is. I don't think he'll agree to what I have in mind.

This sunny castle belongs to Exdeath, of all people. He doesn't appreciate it as much as I do, I'm sure. Separated from the Crystal as I am, this pale imitation of sunlight is the best I can do. Squall Leonhart, if you're going to tread on my territory, then you're going to have to at least exchange a few words with me.

"Good… morning? Afternoon? Whatever it is, it is a rather good one," I say, and smile my charming smile out of habit. I know I'm not winning anyone over today. But it does make him hesitate. He knows better than to trust a smile like that. A smart one—well, that's a pleasant change.

"What're you supposed to be?" he growls, slinging that ugly weapon of his in front of him. Just as socially acceptable as I thought. I ignore him.

"You're rather lonesome, aren't you?" I ask, teasing. Oh, the way he flinches when I say it! I've forgotten how much fun it is to toy with people. My heart glows at the sound of his angry silence. It's so much fun that I decide to play with him more than I originally planned.

"What's it to you," he responds. "Aren't you Zidane's brother? He told me to be on the lookout for a prissy girl."

That makes me laugh. "If you're Zidane's friend, then why aren't you with him? He likes to keep a close eye on his friends—he must think that terrible things happen to them behind his back."

Oh, is he upset. But he keeps it cool, for now. "Are you trying to tell me you're one of those 'terrible things'?"

He even has the gall to add a bitter laugh at the end.

"Not necessarily," I tell him, and I take one single step at a time towards him, listening to the sound of my boots. I love the way boots sound on stone—so powerful, so certain, so… alone, and proud of it.

No need to waste your time with companions-in-arms and whatnot when you have strength. Pure energy at your fingertips, with only yourself to let you down. And I never let myself down.

I could fight him now. But instead, I reach down to his face, brush back his scruffy hair, and trace the line of his scar. "Where did this come from?"

"None of your business!!" he shouts, flinging his hand up to push mine away. "Tell me what you want with me, or get out of my face!"

And he thinks that pointing that blade of his in my direction is the most appropriate next step.

"I want," I practically purr, as I unfurl my fingertips, paralyzing the poor fool with a thoughtless pinch of power, "to use you. I want Zidane, and I know that he just can't bear…"

I pause. Somehow or another, this black leather punk—why, again, do people wear so much black leather? He reminds me of Sephiroth, and that's not a compliment—has found himself suspended over the edge of this curious castle in the sky. Did I have something to do with it? Of course not. How could I be responsible?

"…to know that his friends are in trouble."

I let him go.

He catches himself, fingertips clawing the ledge, like I knew he would. I could be really cruel and step on those poor fingers. But that's right, I need him alive. I had forgotten for a moment.

"You're wasting your time," he tells me, gracelessly gathering himself to his feet. "I'm not Zidane's friend. I'm not anyone's friend."

And then I laugh. I laugh like I haven't laughed since I had convinced myself to destroy all of existence. "What an idiot," I smirk, simmering down. "He doesn't worry about unimportant little details like that! Why, just the fact that he knows your name is probably enough to make him want to give his life for yours. Unless…"

A thought. This angry young man, while not one for conversation, has a strong presence. I can find myself another victim to bait my trap; if I leave this one to simmer, I'm sure his cold rage will explode. He will tear his friends apart. I'm not feeling so innately kind to Cosmos' warriors at the moment.

Reason would tell me that I've been burned by Jecht's unexpected reaction to my efforts and I'm taking it out on people who aren't even responsible. So much for that.

"I don't think I'll use you after all," I tell him. He blinks. "You're right, you're far too isolated. Not even my brother would bother to come help you. I find that a little sad, honestly. He came for me, after all. If he would come rescue me, and not you, then what does that make you…?"

I can tell by the icy fire in his eyes that I've struck quite the chord on his heartstrings. The damage done, I leave him for our quaint little base of operations.

Maybe I lied. Maybe I omitted a few unnecessary details about my encounter with the human thunderstorm. There might have been a few exchanged blows, but nothing really important. I don't have the energy to talk about everything. I do, after all, become fairly weak after I fall out of trance. Garland was unfortunately right.

That little punk certainly had quite some fight in him, didn't he? I'm even bleeding. A bit.

I'll allow him more than a bit, actually. Good thing the carpets are red already, because as I collapse to the threadbare pile, I add my own contribution to the fading color. I seem to be spending all of my free time bleeding nowadays. My body is tired; I should not have exhausted my magic on Jecht's son. Bringing someone half back from the dead takes more effort than it seems like it should.

I need to rest. For a very, very long time. Maybe until I die.

The carpet swims; the walls waltz before my eyes in an off-beat dipping rhythm. But as much as I do love music, this is hardly the right time; who knows who else could be here. And even as I think that, even as I pitch forward and barely catch myself with the flat of my arm, I hear footsteps.

They stagger, uneven. I feel like I miss some of them, because in a half second they grow from a distant rain patter to close thunder.

"Kuja—" I feel more than hear. Because the worst person possible has stumbled upon me just as I feel as if I might spend a few moments in the comfortable darkness of my own unconscious mind.

"No," slips out of my mouth like a mistake. Healing magic forces its way under my skin; rejecting it feels like rejecting food or water, but I turn it away as I struggle with the urge to physically retch.

"Let me help you," he says. Like it's 'help' he really means to offer.

"Never," I hiss and contort myself until I'm looking up at him. The Emperor. "Get away from me. Get away from me now!"

"You're being ridiculous. You're bleeding even as I look at you—you're not in the right sense of mind right now." He kneels and wraps his arms around me, physically bearing down over me as he force-feeds me healing magic. My own protective shell glitters for a spare second, a flimsy shield against him.

I have nothing to actually divulge from my stomach, I realize as I finish gagging.

"I refuse to allow your foolishness to cause you permanent harm. Garland had a word with me," the Emperor says softly into my ear. He still holds me—suffocates me.

Garland?

"A warning, actually. He told me that as I had no business with you, it would be good of me to stay away from you in the future. I noted well the actions of your two new 'friends'. I believe I'm correct in guessing that Garland put them to the task, so even he recognizes the potential of an agreement between us."

I don't want him anywhere near me.

"Why do you cling to the one who is killing you? Why do you reject me?"

I'm going to kill him. One day, he's just going to wake up dead and that will be the end of all this fuss.

"Oh, should I leave you two alone?"

It's that annoying old woman again. If she's here, then where is Sephiroth? Is he still recovering from our little conversation? He can't stand to keep away from the Chaos 'ladies' for very long; I think he sees his dear mommy in them. If that's true, then little wonder he turned out that way. The possibility of calling either of them my parent makes me almost grateful that I have Garland instead.

"Is there something the matter, Ultimecia?" the Emperor calls to her, letting me go. What an idiot. I continue to play weak; I don't move from the floor, not just yet.

"This one," she says, pointing her ugly claws down to me, the washed-up cougar. "This one treaded on my territory. Thought you could get away with messing with what's mine, boy?"

"No," I tell her, coyly. "I didn't think. I knew. But he was worthless, so you can have him back now."

She glowers for a moment, but then looks up. "Garland is calling me," she sighs, but she smirks, her eyes glaring superior, as if an audience with him is an honor. "We'll talk later, so you can preen your feathers all you want until then. Don't think you're getting off easy."

As she disappears, a fragment of thought wanders into my mind like a lost child. That was rather good timing for coincidence, wasn't it, Garland? Why didn't you call the Emperor too?

Because Garland knows me best of all. He knows, from personal experience, how much I adore revenge. A marvelous opportunity has been handed to me, and I'm almost too tired to use it. I doubt I will be able to kill the Emperor as thoroughly as I so badly want to. In fact, his chances of remaining alive after this are fairly good.

Scare tactics, then. Right now I want nothing more than to spend some well-earned quality time with Alexander.

"Oh, Emperor…"


	14. Dissonance Quartet

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Something strange happened with posting the last chapter (although I don't know what actually happened). Hopefully this one will be better! Please enjoy and review!

(And yes, I totally swiped that line near the end from the Dark Knight, which I don't own either.)

Chapter Thirteen: Dissonance Quartet

And then I flinch; pull back. We both do. Because someone is watching, and that someone is no ordinary visitor.

I suppose I should be thankful. Because quite honestly, if I commit to a genuine fight between myself and the Emperor, then I will die right here and now from exhaustion. But of all interruptions…

"I have no argument with any of you; I have no underhanded intentions beyond what I state before you. I wish to speak to Garland."

The Emperor blinks, and stares at the newcomer for a moment. "If I'm not wrong… then you're the Warrior of Light."

"You're not wrong," he says with earnest. What a fool, coming here alone.

The Emperor turns to me. "Even if Garland isn't exactly our favorite, don't you agree that he shouldn't be troubled by such nonsense? Why don't we take care of him?"

"Yeah, I'll take care of him," I simmer. My gaze wanders to the far side of the hall, where the Warrior of Light is unsure whether to draw his weapon or not. Our eyes meet. I watch him as he pauses, and then frowns.

"No, that's impossible," I hear him say to himself. "You're—"

The trend I've noticed with a few of Cosmos' warriors is that while they aren't particularly stupid, they do need to be clued in every once in a while before they fully understand what's going on.

What I'm doing is risky. But what do I have to lose? Only everything. Not much.

Electricity crackles in my palms, stings my hair. It only spends an instant lingering in me before it jumps to its target. The Emperor thinks to defend himself a little too late. I do enjoy seeing his body crumple against the stone, even if it is for just a moment.

Luckily, the Warrior of Light is one of the smart ones. Interestingly enough, he jumps to my side and unsheathes his weapon, as if we've been fighting together for years instead of seconds. I don't remember the last time I had someone to guard my back.

The darkened shard of the Crystal inside of me stirs; I feel a tiny echo of the Crystal's warmth. Just moments ago, I felt as if I were about to collapse. I don't understand where this sudden burst of strength has come from, but I don't waste time contemplating it.

The Emperor gets to his feet and conjures an array. _Time to move,_ I say to the Warrior of Light. He's only marginally shocked to hear my voice inside his head. _If that catches us, we're finished._

'We'...

I grasp onto his forearm. _When we reappear, we'll be at his back. Please don't waste time being disoriented and whatnot._

The Warrior of Light's eyes go wide, but he doesn't have time to react, so he simply takes it in and moves the instant my magic moves us across the hall. Good.

But good isn't quite enough against the Emperor. _I'm going to infuse your blade with my magic. Don't think about it; I'll handle everything. Keep your mind on defending yourself._

I have enough in me for what I have in mind, and it will be enough to shatter the Emperor, at least temporarily. I let the last remnants of my power distill into pure holy magic. "Warrior of Light!" I call out, just to alert him. _Get down after you strike him. I'll protect you._

And then. Thank you, thank you Garland. Alexander, are you sad that I never once got to summon you? Well, no need for tears any longer. "Great Alexander! Come forth!!" I invoke.

A great hulking mechanical mass, a warrior's strength fused with a citadel, appears. The splendor dazzles me. I can barely tear my eyes from it as I weave a shield of magic around the Warrior of Light.

The Emperor breaks. I wonder if the Warrior of Light is even more surprised than I am at how well we worked together. "Thank you, Alexander," I murmur respectfully as he dissipates into the air.

I smile at the Emperor as he seethes. The Warrior of Light returns to my side, as if waiting for a counterattack. But then the Emperor smiles.

"Now I just want you even more," are his parting words.

…I don't think so.

"You have to come back with me," the Warrior of Light says to me, breathless. "To the others. You're—"

I interrupt him. "If I were you, Warrior of Light, I would go now. Before I can think of how you might be useful to me. If you're insistent upon your meeting with Garland, at least wait until Ultimecia has left."

"No, this is—this is even more important than that. I… I wish I could explain, only I don't even understand it. Please just take my word, and come with me. You won't be harmed, I swear it."

I take one long look at him. "Do you know who I am?" I ask him plainly.

"You're Zidane's brother," the Warrior of Light answers, with pleading in his voice. "I know that I can't force you, but—"

"Do you know where my power comes from? It stems from the angry souls of millions of Gaia's dead, thousands and thousands of which I am personally responsible for their demise. There are entire races of people, extinguished by my hand. I believe the proper term is genocide? Go talk to Garland," I tell him. I don't give him a chance to protest. I leave by the same door that he entered.

There is nothing outside of those doors to look forward to, only barren emptiness.

"Nice work, boy," I hear a psychopathic laugh congratulate me. Kefka. He lingers outside, as if he were waiting for me all along. I'm tired. I don't have time for this. I need to find somewhere to sleep.

"You lose points for not finishing the job, but teaming up with the Warrior of Light? That takes a special sort of something. I'd even say you deserve a round of applause, but I don't have enough hands."

I stop and stare blankly at him, and then I close my eyes for a long, patience-trying moment. "Because you fight your own battles, right?"

Kefka gives me a strange, piercingly gleeful stare. "I'm not a coward. No. I'm just ahead of the curve…"

He stares off, and then suddenly, as if he remembers what he's doing, he looks at me as if for the first time. "What's your excuse?" he snaps. "Why'd you fall behind?"

He pauses. Then laughs. "Ooh, I know. I got it, I got it. Could it be, maybe, that you're hoping one day that you'll slip up? A quick end's better, know what I'm saying? Come on, let's walk and talk."

"Thanks, but no."

Kefka rolls his eyes in exaggerated pantomime. "Boy, you're falling asleep on your feet. And I'm guessing that I'm one of the few of us you haven't pissed off, so where're you going to go to recover your strength?"

"Why don't you tell me."

"No one goes where we're going. You can rest there. I don't have any use for you, so you know you can trust me."

"… I'll be fine. Really—"

No. I won't be fine. That extra energy I found just in time to fight the Emperor must have been my second wind—third or fourth? I've lost count. And my last. So when Kefka closes in on me, I'm a split-second too slow. Just like the Emperor had been.

He doesn't use magic; no, he doesn't need to make things that complicated. And I'm not one to doubt the nihilistic clown's resourcefulness, so I don't even doubt how he got his hands on simple, cheap, and effective chloroform. I haven't even seen chloroform since my childhood.

…Garland.

My last thoughts aren't the kind of thoughts to be said aloud.


	15. Voces Intimae

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Awesome news is, some questions are answered in this chapter (like why Kuja gets so peeved every time someone makes a joking reference to his looks). Please enjoy and review!!

Chapter Fourteen: Voces Intimae

I wake and my heart flutters in panic. I see the tinned lights of a laboratory and I'm suddenly a child in Terra.

"Garland, please, please let me out, I swear I'll be good—" I cry, my palms beating meaninglessly against the thick, clouded pane. I'm in a cylindrical prison, a butterfly trapped under a glass. And then I see him.

Kefka.

For a second, my mind dips back down into unconsciousness. I feel as if I'm frayed at the edges, and my thoughts drip slowly.

"Let me out of here, you bastard," I seethe, my hands now curling in until my fingernails carve little half-moon impressions into my skin.

"You'll have to be nicer than that," he howls with sadistic glee. His voice sounds muffled through the glass. There's magic infused into my prison, magic that blocks mine.

"Why don't you let me out and see how nice I can be?" I smile, showing my teeth. But then I realize that I'm not doing anything besides entertaining him. I retreat, allow the glass to support me, and take a moment to breathe. Which isn't such a smart idea. I don't like being trapped, closed in. Not at all. My heartbeat trills again.

He watches as my eyes widen in fright, and I stare back at him. "What do you want from me?" I whisper.

"What's that? You'll have to speak up!"

What do you want from me?!" I snarl, composure abandoned as I lunge as far as I can within my impossibly tiny space.

He smiles, and comes right up to my face. "Don't you know what you are, boy?" he asks me quite seriously, his fingers rapping distractedly on the glass. "I mean, really. You're taking forever. Haven't you figured it out by now? I thought you were one of the smarter ones…"

He shrugs, and walks away.

"Hey, wait!!" I shout after him. "Don't you dare walk away from me!"

He cheerfully waves, gives me a big smile, and disappears down a flight of metal stairs. His footsteps echo like thunder.

I sit back, look up at the ceiling of my prison. Air vents, but nothing obvious that I can manage. A jagged sigh turns into a hopeless sob that racks my entire body. Curled up into a ball, I can just barely lie down. I move my head so that I don't crush my feathers, and then close my eyes.

I'm done. I'm done with all of this. I want to go back to my lonely, empty palace buried under the desert sands and die in peace.

I wonder if Jecht and Golbez will come for me. It's not entirely impossible. In comparison to what I did to Zidane, I might as well have made the both of them friendship charms and picked them flowers. And Zidane came for me.

At least… I think he did.

No. I know he did. I remember everything exactly, except for the times I blacked out. But everything else is crystal clear.

It takes an immense amount of energy to maintain a Trance for as long as I did, but I was too fraught to possibly even consider slipping out. I didn't return to my true form until I fell. And what a fall…

A fall through time and space and existence itself. I still don't understand how I survived without cracking my head open on one of the Iifa Tree's monstrous limbs.

And during that time, my thoughts focused only on my death. My clothes torn to bloodied shreds, I could feel my very life dripping away from me a single ounce at a time, my blood falling through the Iifa Tree's intermingled branches until it surely must have reached the roots. My last act would be to nourish Garland's cursed transmitter of souls.

How did I know that Zidane was out there? I don't know. I just knew, I felt it. I didn't want him to come after me. He more or less told me to stop whining.

Which is… exactly what I would have told myself, had I been alone.

No. I must have had his help. But if I had enough magic to protect him from the Iifa Tree's wrath, then I certainly had enough left over to teleport myself, if not to safety, at least away.

I'm not saying that I don't trust my memories. I'm just considering what could have happened if Zidane was right. Because I did wake up alone. For that part at least, we're in agreement.

But before I woke up alone, I had spent days upon days with panic tearing at my sanity. I was going to die. But I didn't want to die like I had lived. I didn't want to die alone. Maybe I had imagined—

No. No. I'm right, I know I am. What happened was not some fantasy of mine. It was the truth.

I'm sure of it…

I lean my head back against the glass of my prison. I swear that if I spend an hour more in this narrow glass bottle, then I will snap. With only my memories for company, I almost prefer Kefka. I don't want to remember, but I do anyways.

A great crack in the vault of the sky pours darkness like a torrent onto my beautiful adopted world. But by then, the fragile new world I've spun for myself following my survival has already shattered. Because I have seen Zidane alive, and his last look towards is one of hatred; it is one of pure, unmatched wrath.

When our world breaks, we are the ones left behind. We lay there—the tremors have thrown me off my feet, and knocked Zidane unconscious— in the last cracked edge of Gaia. We don't learn until later that this too, dies, leaving only the Crystal World to call our own.

And I witness both a great light and a great abyss. Cosmos and Chaos have come for us. And in the flash of their eyes, I see what has happened and I understand. Others have initiated war, and I have been summoned to answer the call.

Chaos stands back while Cosmos examines both of us. He seems uncertain. Finally Cosmos shakes her head, and roughly points to me and says, "no, you can go ahead and take him. We need to make this work."

"At least someone wants me," I tell her with a sideways smirk, and when I'm next aware of my surroundings, my fingers curl together and feel only the smooth surface of tile.

Laying on my side, I shiver at the chill. My breath mists, and I lift my gaze to a dizzying spectacle: a crystalline labyrinth of a castle, if it can be called a castle. The very air casts over me the pall of a mausoleum. I breathe in and feel the taint of the frozen lower circles of hell.

"This must be the last one. The straggler," I hear. I mean to sit up, to stand. My body refuses to respond to my bidding, almost as if the cold sinks deeper than just my skin, paralyzing me.

"Do we tell Garland?" this one's voice is a woman. "This one does match the description that he gave, and he did order us to notify him immediately in the event of his appearance. And to bring him to the hall immediately."

There's a patient laugh. "Ultimecia, why would I do that? From the way Garland was ordering us about, he sounded almost afraid. Afraid of this little, harmless-looking… whatever he must be. I don't believe he's human."

"Garland, afraid?" the first voice repeats doubtfully.

"Yes. And if Garland's afraid, then I believe he's someone we should invest in," that cold, awful third voice says with greed glittering in his words. A hand slips through my hair, gently smoothing it out of my face, and I see the Emperor for the first time.

"He's certainly a beautiful one," he says, his hand remaining too long on my face. I grimace, trying to gather my senses together. I want out of here, this very instant. A woman—a frightening one, though not nearly so as that elephant queen—joins him. She is Ultimecia.

"I agree… for a girl. Personally, not my type, but he seems to be yours," she remarks to the Emperor.

He chuckles, and then says, "I think he's waking up."

I struggle, trying to stir. I'm not coordinated enough to voice my protests as the Emperor takes me and lays me flat on my back. "Shh, it's all right. Awakening for the first time has been rough on some. You aren't the first, I assure you."

He fills my vision. "But you do seem to be waking slower than those who have come before. I'm going to check your heart…"

The Emperor's hand slips beneath the layers of my jacket, beneath the golden silk and touches my bare skin. If it's my heartbeat he's concerned with, then the only abnormality is that it betrays my fear. But he frowns. "That's strange. The light… hmm. Some trick of Cosmos'? Well, no matter."

His hand purposely slips, traces a lingering line from my heart to below my belly button. I think I'm awake enough now.

"Get your hands off me!!" I demand, my voice still a little slurred. I also kick him square in the chest.

"Who said you could touch me, you bastard," I practically spit, and then curse myself silently. My head swims from the effort; black gloved hands instantly grab me and twist my arms behind my back with one hand; the other belts across my throat. If I struggle, I strangle myself.

This is how I meet Sephiroth.

But the Emperor is only humored. "If this is how he treats us, imagine what he'll do when Garland summons him. I do hope I'm there to witness it."

They keep mentioning Garland, who is dead. I distinctly remember that I killed him myself.

"Does that name ring a bell, little bird?" The Emperor laughs as he gets to his feet, frames my face with his hands. I hear Ultimecia cackle in the background. She knows more than I do about what is about to happen.

I used to think I was so tough. That I was the ultimate distilled perfection of corruption, that no one could parallel my degeneration.

It seems to me that there are varying degrees of complexity amongst the followers of Chaos, almost as if the very worlds they come from were more or less capable of creating a human being rather than a paper caricature.

I feel that some I can evaluate easily, despite their tricks and lies, and some have inner worlds that sink for miles beneath the surface. And without those great, darkened sinking depths, the void grows in their place. A void that strips them of their humanity until they are perfect.

Now I know that I wasn't ever like that. Perfect.

I wasn't evil, not really. I was just empty and thought that if I put on the mask and played the part, then I could let the void of eternity and power replace what was never there. I just forgot that it was a mask I was wearing, and I didn't remember to take it off until the time when I needed it the most. And when I tried to put it back on, it slipped from my hands and cracked.

It will never fit me ever again, but that doesn't mean that I don't keep it. Just in case.


	16. Jeux de Vagues

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Peeps, you can sign your reviews (does anyone else still have leftover marshmallow peeps? I do, and I'm not exactly egg-hunt age anymore). I don't bite, just ask Kuja. If you think something sounds off, then go ahead and sign anyways and I'll probably reply with either a 'yeah, I totally don't know what I'm talking about when it comes to this FF but I'm getting it figured out' or 'wait for chapter so-and-so, it'll make sense later, I promise', because this fic is already written. Someone had really wicked awesome timing (and Wicked is awesome) with their concerns about Sephy. Props.

On the other hand, if my reply is vague, it's probably because something really bad happens and I feel guilty for having subjected my cast to it. Or I just don't want to spoil the story, because nothing spoils the fun of raising Aerith's stats in FFVII like knowing she's going to die (…sorry if I spoiled that for anyone…?). Please enjoy and review!!

Chapter Fifteen: Jeux de Vagues

We end up staying in the Crystal World. I'm not so excited to stay here longer than I have to, but what am I going to do?

"It's weird," Cloud says to himself, shaking his head. It's been quiet for a while. Not an awkward quiet, just that sleepy quiet before everyone decides that they might as well stop pretending and go to sleep already. Tidus, fooling absolutely no one, already has.

It looks like Bartz is nodding off. But if he's just pretending, then he deserves to be left alone with his thoughts for awhile.

"What's weird?" I respond, without any indication from Cloud that my input is wanted. I can be good at ignoring things like that when I want to.

"It doesn't fit. I fought Sephiroth and sent him running. Sure, I had Bartz's help, but I wasn't even that exhausted afterwards. It was like something was keeping them, making him take that beating."

I crack a smile. "Maybe you're just getting better than him."

He shakes his head. "No. Not with Chaos on his side. Something else was involved. Something, or… someone," he says with a strange look on his face. "But no, that's impossible. He's dead. I think so, anyways."

"Cloud, you're talking to yourself, not me."

"It would have taken a strong presence of the light to call out Kadaj, if he is still in there. After Aerith took him, I can only imagine that would be the only thing." I think he's trying to clear things up for me, but I can't tell.

"Wouldn't that 'strong presence of the light' be you and Bartz?" I point out, but he denies it.

"No, I'm talking more along the lines of Cosmos herself. But when would Sephiroth have interacted with Cosmos? I suppose I could always ask Cosmos, but I don't want to inconvenience her."

"Can you backtrack a little, just for my sake? Who exactly is Kadaj?" I watch Cloud as he sighs and runs a hand through his spiky hair. This could be a long story, but I get the feeling he's going to give me the abridged version.

"After we got off our whole 'save the world' kick, life went back to more or less normal. People started rebuilding. People started caring about our planet. Then Kadaj and his brothers showed up. Turned out they were brought into existence solely to facilitate Sephiroth's return to a physical form, but Kadaj was the one who actually became Sephiroth. We fought. Both me and Kadaj, and me and Sephiroth."

"Sephiroth pulled out of Kadaj's body so that Kadaj would die instead of him. Kadaj looked like a young man, but he wasn't really anything more than a child whose wants could be manipulated by someone like Sephiroth. I thought Kadaj was safe, putting him in Aerith's hands. But then again, I thought my world was safe, too, and so much for that. So who's to say that Sephiroth didn't reclaim Kadaj's body and use it to manifest himself here in this fragment world?"

I look at him blankly. "I'm going to be honest with you and say that about seventy-five percent of that went right over my head. But basically, there's someone else's soul inside Sephiroth's body, and that someone's not really up there on the 'dedicated to Chaos' scale?"

Then he smiles almost sheepishly. "Sorry to bother you with my rambling. It's just a weird theory. Hey Bartz, you awake?"

"What's up?" Bartz looks up, as if he'd woken from some daydream.

"Tidus," Cloud calls over, but Tidus is out cold. "Never mind. It can wait. I kind of wish the others were here right now. I think that if I could talk over who we're up against, then we could make some guesses about who's fighting whom. Bartz, what does Exdeath want?"

"The void. Darkness. That's what he's after, far as I can tell."

"What about Kuja?" Cloud says to me.

To live. "Control. Power," I tell Cloud. "He wanted to be a god. What about Sephiroth?"

"To be more than a memory," is the first thing that Cloud says. "He too wanted to be a god of sorts. I don't believe that he'll stop with Tidus. We need to warn Cecil—"

He looks up. Suddenly, we have company.

"What do I need to be warned about?" Cecil asks as he sits down. Firion does the same, and I notice that we've left four empty spaces without even realizing it. Terra and Onion Knight. Squall, and the Warrior of Light.

"Where's the Warrior of Light?" I want to know. "Wasn't he with you guys?"

"That's why we're here," Firion tells us. "We thought he was with you all. Which means… we now have a problem."

"He said he was going to join you guys," I tell them. "But…" I have a thought.

I intentionally went to Pandaemonium, Garland's stronghold in Terra, because I couldn't handle not having any answers for a single second longer. It's not that much of a stretch to think that the Warrior of Light might have done the same thing. But I didn't leave Pandaemonium on my own steam. Garland snared my mind, made me nothing more than a doll. With Kuja out of reach, he tried for me. And for a little while, he succeeded. He'd almost gotten back his second Angel of Death. I wonder how Garland would have used me if my friends hadn't saved me.

If something happens to the Warrior of Light, then…

No, that would have been stupid. He just chewed us out for going out by ourselves, he's not going to turn around and not listen to his own advice, is he?

"Well, this sucks," Tidus remarks as he stirs. "First Squall, and now him."

"I noticed that Squall wasn't with you all, either," Firion adds. "I take it that no one found him? Tidus, you couldn't catch up to him?"

Cloud takes up the conversation. "That brings us back to what we were talking about when the two of you showed up. Tidus was involved in an unprovoked attack."

"You mean Sephiroth showed up out of the blue and tried to off him," Bartz interjects.

"Well, yes," Cloud clarified. "We thought that you might also be in danger, Cecil, considering that your brother was seen by Tidus in Jecht's company. Zidane, too, now that I think of it."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Bartz says then. "Sephiroth showed up and attacked us too. Well, he attacked you."

"This guy seems to be pretty busy," Cecil comments. "What did he want with you?"

"Nothing new," Cloud says quickly, and then pales as if he wants to take it back. "I mean… well…"

"Spill it, Cloud," Bartz tells him with warning in his voice. "Out with it. All of it. That's not the first time Sephiroth's messed with you since this started, am I right?"

Cloud pauses, looks down. "It's what he does. Be careful, all of you, in case he comes after you. He talks to you, gets inside your head. Makes you think darkness is the only way. He's been trying to make me think that Chaos is the only way."

"But—wait a sec. You've been with us this whole time," Tidus says. "…right?"

Cloud nods. "But there was always this woman with him. This mage—she could stop time. Her name's Ultimecia. Squall's."

Bartz looks upset. "And you never told us?"

"What difference would it have made," Cloud sighs. "What's important is that I know that Sephiroth did make an alliance with at least one other person. So we've got… I'm trying to figure out where the lines are drawn," he looks up and tells Firion and Cecil.

Firion nods. "What do you have so far?"

Cloud pauses for a moment. He looks to the side and sets his eyes on one of the countless piles of crystalline rubble. Leaning over, he picks out ten shards carefully, and then sets them in front of him in a row.

"We can assume that Sephiroth and Ultimecia are working together," he begins, taking two and pushing them to the side in their own group. "And that in at least one instance, Jecht, Golbez, and Kuja are grouped together. Tidus, what were they doing while you were…spying?"

Tidus snorts. "If that's what you want to call it. Uh, I know this sounds weird, but they looked like they were hanging out. Jecht and Golbez were even laughing. I'm pretty sure Kuja was asleep. Like, I wish I could tell you guys that I overheard some awesome complex scheme or whatever, but they were just chilling."

Cloud shrugs, and three crystals are grouped together and moved as far away as possible from Sephiroth and Ultimecia. "So that leaves your Emperor," he says and looks up at Firion, "Onion Knight's Cloud of Darkness, Bartz's Exdeath, and Terra's Kefka. Oh, and Garland."

He moves a crystal meant to symbolize Garland into the center. "And Garland is both simultaneously the Warrior of Light's Garland and your Garland?" he asks me.

"Yeah. Kuja killed him and hates his guts, I don't know if that helps. I'm not his biggest fan either."

"While we're guessing, we might as well take everything into account," Firion tells me.

"That's actually really helpful," Cloud says, and moves Garland further away from the Jecht-Golbez-Kuja grouping, towards Sephiroth and Ultimecia.

But Firion shakes his head. "The Emperor… he would have orchestrated an alliance. From what I've heard from Onion Knight and Terra, the Cloud of Darkness and Kefka aren't particularly interested in smoothing people over enough to be friends. He wouldn't have bothered with those two. He would have joined Sephiroth and Ultimecia. If Garland is in the seat of power, then chances are that the Emperor wants him out."

He moves Garland back to the center, but pushes him away and up so that the groups now appear to be something of a hierarchy.

Cloud nods. "All right. So here's the Emperor," he says, and another crystal joins Sephiroth and Ultimecia.

Firion reaches over and makes a triangle with those three crystals. "If there's an alliance, then the Emperor is pulling the strings. I'm not saying that Sephiroth or Ultimecia obey his orders, but merely that he likely cares more about being seen in a position of power than they might."

"Hang on guys, I'm losing track of who's who," Tidus interrupts.

I unsheathe one of my daggers. "Don't worry, I'm on it." From the side, I pick up each of the crystals—the edge of the blade surprisingly manages to make quite a dent in the crystal—and leave a mark. At first, I think of going with initials: but then I realize that too many people's names start with the same letters for that.

So settling for symbols instead, they watch me as I pick up Garland's crystal and carve a little skull with horns on the flat side. I continue, with a crown for the Emperor, a cartoonish cotton candy cloud for the Cloud of Darkness, a sickle moon for Golbez, and a stick-figure tree for Exdeath, which makes Bartz laugh.

Kefka gets a lopsided smiley face, and Sephiroth, a caricature of his long sword. I give Ultimecia a clock face, but the knife slips just as I'm about to carve a pair of feathers for Kuja.

"Damn," I swear, and wipe off my thumb on my pants. I continue, and then Tidus reaches over for the last one and my dagger.

"Give me that," he says, and quickly and perfectly carves the "J" symbol he wears, and replaces the crystal in its original position. He returns the dagger to me, handle first. I sheathe it, and Bartz smiles.

"Nice work," he says, and I stick my thumb in my mouth. I don't want blood getting all over my hands. "You want some white magic for that?"

I shake my head. "It's good."

Firion takes the Cloud of Darkness and Kefka and places them in their own area, not together but in the same general place.

"You can go ahead and add Exdeath to that pile while you're there," Bartz chimes in, and each crystal is now in some sort of order. It resembled a triangle, with the Emperor-Sephiroth-Ultimecia group and the Jecht-Golbez-Kuja group forming the bottom, with Garland at the top and Cloud of Darkness-Exdeath-Kefka like scattered stones in the middle.

Tidus is the first one to admit out loud what we're all thinking. "So… what's this all supposed to mean?"

Firion sighs. "It means… that we can tell that there's something weird going on, but we have no idea whatsoever as to what that might actually be."


	17. Age of Anxiety

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

This chapter continues with the warriors of Cosmos. Please enjoy and review!!

Chapter Sixteen: Age of Anxiety

Bartz sighs. "Great way to be a downer. Hey, Firion, I'm kidding," he says good-naturedly. "So… anyone holding out on any hunches? I mean, they're the best we've got right now."

"Firion, I'd say your guess about Sephiroth is good," Cloud says. "I'd put money down that he made this alliance just to facilitate his motives, and he's not too particularly concerned with politics. With Squall missing, we can't confirm Ultimecia, but from the way she behaved, it felt to me like she wanted to get her business done, and she was just having fun on the way."

"To be honest, the presence of the Emperor makes me nervous. More than I should be, which is already quite a substantial amount," Firion replies. "He's… certainly something. I don't think that Sephiroth and Ultimecia's strength are enough to sate his lust for power. This is purely conjecture, but I'm considering the possibility that he plans to throw a coup against Garland."

"But Garland doesn't really have anyone on his side,' Tidus protests.

"These three—" Cecil points to the three in the middle. "If Chaos is what they're really about, then they would support him, simply because they know that Garland's already in the seat of power."

"That makes sense," I say. "But what's that got to do with the Emperor? I mean, in relation to what he wants."

Cloud places his finger over the Emperor's shard. "If it's power he wants, then who's he going to go after? I mean, we know that everyone here can hold their own. But assuming that the Emperor wouldn't want to waste time and possibly tip off Garland, he'd only want to make one or two bids, right? Who are the powerhouses here?"

Everyone's quiet for a moment of consideration.

Cecil shakes his head. "You can rule my brother out."

"Same for Jecht. I mean, he's got that whole business with Sin going on, but that's not really under his control. We're looking for people who can make the cut at a moment's notice, right?" Tidus asks.

"Exdeath and these two are really powerful, I'm guessing," Bartz says slowly. "But like we said, they're kind of loyal to Garland, and even if they're not, there's no reason to believe that they wouldn't tell Garland just to stir things up. That leaves…"

His fingertip hovers over Kuja's crystal.

I cough. "Kuja got pissed off and kicked our Garland off a cliff, decimated a planet, then tore a whole in time itself and shattered our world's Crystal, and still had enough energy to compose some sappy poetry about life and death afterwards."

Bartz whistles. "I think we have a winner."

"But then Tidus wouldn't have seen him. There's something else going on," Cloud says.

"So? He could be playing hard-to-get with the Emperor," I shrug.

"Then why the hell would he have come looking for me?" Tidus argues. "Like, seriously. I don't think he was just taking a walk and happened to find me bleeding my guts out."

Firion holds up a hand. "We never made a definitive conclusion that Sephiroth is working in correlation with the Emperor. That was just a guess."

"But if that happens to be the case, then it all fits together pretty well," Cloud interrupts him. "_If _Jecht and Golbez and Kuja are together in this pile, and _if_ the Emperor wants to expand his arsenal by acquiring Kuja, and _if_ Sephiroth is working with the Emperor, then it would make perfect sense for Sephiroth to attack Tidus because it would send a nice little message to Jecht over here," and Cloud makes an arc from the Emperor to Jecht.

"The real question is how this alliance over here's working out," he adds. "Cecil and Tidus, you've made it pretty clear that your family members aren't particularly interested in what's going on. So what are they doing with Kuja?"

"Protection, maybe," Firion speculates. "I find it hard to believe that Garland wouldn't at least have some idea of what the Emperor would be planning, provided that we're right. If we can conclude that Kuja is the easiest, quickest way for the Emperor to gain power, then I'm sure Garland has made the same conclusion."

"How does that follow?" I want to know.

"Because if Jecht and Golbez actually cared about Kuja enough to be there on their own, then threatening Jecht through Tidus wouldn't have made Jecht back off. But again, this is all conjecture," Firion sighs. "We still need to figure out these three in the middle, and more importantly, we need to find the Warrior of Light and Squall. We have three and two, so if we split into two groups, then—"

"No need," we hear, and we all look up.

"Oh man," Bartz gasps, and gets to his feet first. "Hang on, I got you—"

Bartz catches the Warrior of Light just as he falters and falls; he's wounded but it's nothing that we can't do anything about, and Bartz whispers the healing incantation without even blinking. I wonder how drained his magic must be, so I get up and help.

"Where'd you go? We were really worried about you," I ask him. I don't mention that his injuries only prove the point he was trying to make earlier.

"I apologize. For being a hypocrite," he sighs, and closes his eyes and takes off his helmet. Bartz removes his cloak and rolls it up for the Warrior of Light to use as a pillow. "But I… I'll explain why later. There's something more important—"

He looks to his side, where the crystals are still in their little piles. "What are those?"

Firion laughs. "Oh, these," and he holds up a piece and places it in the Warrior of Light's hand. "We were trying to figure out what was going on with Chaos. That one's Garland."

The Warrior of Light turns it over in his hand, and then sits up. He winces and gives a barely audible cry. It's one we all hear, but we all pretend we didn't.

He places Garland back in his original position.

"Are these three the Emperor, Sephiroth, and Ultimecia?" he says, pointing to that pile.

"Yeah," I answer him.

"They're good like this, with the Emperor at the top. He's leading them for certain, or at least they let him lead them. But they should be closer here, almost level with Garland," he says, moving them upwards, "and with Ultimecia here."

He flips Sephiroth and Ultimecia so that Ultimecia is closer to Garland by just a fraction.

"Why are these three together?" he asks, pointing to Jecht, Golbez, and Kuja. "Are you guessing from what Tidus saw? If these three were allied, then that time is past," and he moves Kuja outside of the triangle.

He looks at it for a moment, and then nods. "This is good. But if you'll allow me to destroy your hard work, I have something very important to tell you. I went to Garland's castle… like I said, I'll explain later," he says quickly.

He takes the Cloud of Darkness and Exdeath and removes them entirely, setting them at his side. He does the same with Jecht and Golbez, making sure to keep them apart from the first pile. Last, he pushes Sephiroth to the sidelines.

Then he gets to work on the pieces that remain. Ultimecia and the Emperor get moved to the sidelines as well, and Garland is pushed to the side. He places Kefka at the bottom of the space. Finally, he takes Kuja's crystal shard and places him center stage.

"This is guessing from what I heard, because I did not enter the hall until later. Kuja arrives injured. The Emperor enters," he says, and moves the shard with the crown next to Kuja, "and heals Kuja against his will and proposes that they join forces, and is denied. By the level of intensity in Kuja's voice, I would guess that this was not the first time that conversation took place."

"That confirms what we were guessing," Firion says, sounding almost excited. "Did you hear why his offer was refused?"

The Warrior of Light shook his head. "No. But Kuja—he was not happy to be even in the presence of the Emperor. For someone ordinarily so composed, he seemed downright distraught."

The Emperor broke Kuja's façade. That means he did something bad. Something very bad. My mind jumps instantly to the worst of places, and I don't realize how far I've pulled away from the conversation until Bartz taps me on the shoulder.

"Hey, you doing okay? You look like someone just slapped you across the face," he says softly, while the Warrior of Light moves Ultimecia's shard from Kuja and the Emperor to Garland.

"I'm fine," I say. I don't even convince myself, much less him. But he lets it go.

"And then the strangest thing happens. I meet your brother's eyes, Zidane, and I see—" he pauses, and shakes his head. "Forgive me. This will sound utterly ridiculous, but I saw just the tiniest flicker of Cosmos' light in his eyes."

"…what?" I breathe. "That's… that's not possible. Kuja, he… Cosmos told me that Kuja is going to become the avatar of Chaos."

"The hell?!" Tidus explains. "Am I the only one who doesn't know this?"

I shake my head. "I didn't tell anyone. I'm sorry…"

"It's quite likely that it's just the fragment of the Crystal that he's keeping," the Warrior of Light says quickly. "Maybe the Crystal reacts differently to him than it does to the rest of Chaos' followers. Just for everyone's information, any of Chaos' followers have the potential to take up Garland's slack in case of an emergency. Some are just closer than others."

But the Warrior of Light slumps just the tiniest amount and the strength he had in his voice disappears. "At this point, I enter the hall. The Emperor proposes that they team up and fight me, but Kuja turns on him and together we cripple the Emperor, who retreats. He protected me throughout the battle," the Warrior of Light says, and it sounds like he's trying to protest something.

"I insist that he comes back with me, because of the light I saw in his eyes. He tells me to leave before he exits the hall through the door I entered. I wait for minutes, perhaps, lost in thought, before deciding simply to return to all of you. But when I exit…"

He moves Kuja's shard next to Kefka's.

"Kuja is asleep on the ground. Kefka leans over him, strangely holding a cloth to Kuja's mouth and nose. I don't understand what happened."

"Warrior of Light, he was drugged," Cloud tells him. At the sight of the Warrior of Light's confusion, he elaborates. "Like sleeping magic, but a chemical. Kind of like a medicine, only not good for people. They were invented after your world's time."

The tight knot that had knitted itself together in my stomach sinks as I begin to feel sick.

"That makes sense," the Warrior of Light nods. "I resolved to take Kuja back here with me, but Kefka wins our battle. Just as I fall to the floor, I hear voices."

He sits quiet for a moment, and then apologizes and lays down again before continuing.

"I look up, and see Jecht and Golbez in the doorway of the hall. I distinctly remember hearing Jecht say, 'All right, all right. I'll apologize. You owe him one too. Let's go get him.' It's never revealed who they are referring to. And then they see me, and Kefka and Kuja. They rush out, but Kefka takes Kuja and disappears."

Kuja was drugged and kidnapped by Terra's psychopathic clown. My mind flashes back to the first time I heard Terra mention his name. I have a terrible vision of Kefka laughing while he brutally tears Kuja apart to get at the dark power behind Kuja's trance.

No.

I don't realize that I've said that out loud until I stand up and start walking away. "Zidane, where are you going??" Bartz demands, yanking on my shoulder.

"I have to go get him," I protest. I swear my voice hasn't been that strong for ages.

"No. I'm not letting anyone else wander off and disappear. Stay here, and sit it out for the rest of what the Warrior of Light has to say. After that, I promise I'll go with you if that's what you still want to do."

I look at him. "Really?" I ask. "You'd do that?"

He looks at me like the last few words I spoke were gibberish. "Yeah. The Zidane we all met when this business first went down sure as heck isn't the same Zidane that we've all had to deal with for goodness knows how long, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's causing it."

Bartz. Bartz, you've shaken me out of this stupid fog I've been wandering around in forever. I've forgotten about everything—and especially about what I want from Kuja.

"Guys, I'm sorry," I turn around, looking at all of them. "I've been weird lately. I promise I'm not really like this," I laugh as I sit down. "I'm sorry for interrupting you," I say directly to the Warrior of Light. He's injured, and he's going out of his way to tell everyone—me, really—what happened to Kuja when he should be resting.

But… what was the Warrior of Light doing there in the first place?


	18. Come Sweet Death

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

This has nothing to do with the chapter, but all day today (okay, really five minutes today after Japanese class), I realized that I forgot Genesis' name. I always just called him Gackt in my head, so I had to look it up. Definitely... not awesome. Anyways, please enjoy and review!!

Chapter Seventeen: Come Sweet Death

You just have to stay put long enough to understand what's going on, I tell myself. I make myself sit still, and force myself to pay attention to the Warrior of Light.

"Jecht and Golbez stare at the space where Kefka was for entire seconds before I stir and they remember that I'm there," the Warrior of Light continues. "They ask me what I'm doing here. I tell them what happened with the Emperor, and as much of what I saw with Kefka."

"They look at each other. They don't even question my being there, or the fact that I'm one of Cosmos'. And Golbez says, 'we should alert Garland. We need to tell him that we've failed'."

"So we were right about Jecht and Golbez being assigned to protect Kuja," Firion says. "I wish… I almost wish that we weren't right. This is far more to take on than we realized."

"I agree with you," the Warrior of Light tells him. "I hear his voice. Garland's voice. He says, 'no, you have not failed me. You have done very well. Kefka was going to take your place anyways, but the opportunity presented itself sooner than expected. Rather, the necessity presented itself sooner than expected. Excellent work.'"

"What's that supposed to mean?!" I demand.

"I don't know," the Warrior of Light say, and he says it with nothing less than sincerity. But what he has to say doesn't make me feel any better. "I'm certain that your answer lies in Garland's intent, which is unfortunately unknown to me. Unfortunately, at that point, I leave before I am discovered. And here I am now," he finishes, and sighs heavily.

I reach forward and pick up the shard that I carved two feathers into, and slip it into my pocket. "Bartz," I say, "if you really meant it, I'm leaving now. I'd appreciate your help," I add, because I know that I sound confrontational at best.

"Don't worry, we'll be careful. I'm sneakier than all of you put together," Bartz jokes, and even leads the way before I've gotten to my feet.

"Wish me luck," I tell them with a grin that I haven't smiled in ages, and then I run up to catch him.

"How do you know where you're going?" I demand. He seems so sure of himself.

"I don't. And I don't mind. I have a feeling that there was a time when you didn't mind if you didn't know where you were going either, as long as you felt sure that you were getting something done."

I have to laugh at myself because he's so incredibly right it's unbelievable. "Yeah."

"Besides, I think you could use a long walk. And a long talk. So start talking."

One thing surfaces to my mind, above all others, as if I've subconsciously sifted it from all the other useless chatter and found what's really causing everything.

"Bartz," I say quietly, my voice hushed almost to silence, "you're my friend, right? I mean, I know I haven't been the best guy to know these past few days, or whatever counts for days in this weird limbo, but… I still make the cut, don't I?"

"Zidane, don't even think twice about it. Normally, you make friends before figuring out if they're worth going through bad times for. But this isn't normal. It's worth going through bad times together to figure out if we'll still be friends when all's said and done."

I nod. He's right. In times like this, we need faith, even it means putting faith in the strangest places. That's something I knew once, and then forgot. "Bartz, how old do I look to you?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Somewhere between twelve and eighteen, I'd guess. How old are you? You got a baby face or something?"

I chuckle. "I've got a Genome face. Guess how old I'll look when I'm eighty?"

He doesn't say anything immediately; I think he figures it out, but he doesn't know how to put the words in the right order.

"Garland made me immortal. Sure, I get scrapes and stuff, but unless something really strong hits me, I'm going to live forever. And I'm afraid that…"

Whatever was going to come out flees my mind, and what I really want to say steps up instead. The first tear falls.

"I'm afraid that it's my fault that Kuja's with Chaos. Because I abandoned him in the desert just when he… just when he was getting better. Just when it seemed like he would just stop being so angry and sad and let the world in. You know I went off on my own too, just like Tidus?"

The second tear falls. "Except I went to Kuja and lied to him. I told him that I never saved him, that no one would ever even think of saving someone like him. And when Chaos came to raze our world, he saved a village of people who had every reason to hate him, and I told him that never happened, that he had killed each and every one of them."

And then they just go from there. "And when Chaos attacked Garnet's kingdom, and I saw Garnet fall, I didn't have any proof that he'd killed her. I just assumed. Until now I didn't even remember the look on his face. Now I know that I made such a huge mistake—he had reached out his hand to her and she hadn't taken it because she didn't trust him, and the look on his face as she fell was so sick with sorrow that I…"

I shake my head. "I lied to him because I thought he would get angry. Lash out. Lose control. Because when he loses control... entire worlds get destroyed."

I stop. "Bartz, when I'm eighty, or eight hundred, or eight thousand, I'm still going to look like this. I'm going to watch the people around me live and die like snowflakes, until the bodies of everyone I know just pile up around me until I'm buried."

"I just want to be with her again. I want to die."


	19. The Pied Piper

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Warning: this chapter indirectly contains very strong sexual themes. If anyone isn't in the mood for that, chapter 20 essentially fills in on plot for this chapter. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Eighteen: The Pied Piper

I know Zidane saved me. He must have. Why would I make something like that up?

"Good morning, little Kuja," Kefka crows, tapping on the glass like he does every so often, whether it could vaguely be considered morning or not. Not that I would even know—my sense of time has deteriorated.

I don't even look up. I don't give him the satisfaction of meeting my worn-down gaze. Zidane must have come after me.

"Have you got it figured out yet?" he cackles. "What you are?"

"Dying. That's what I am. Go away," I wearily snarl. I remember that Zidane told me that he might have done the same thing if he had been in my place. So that means he definitely came to save me.

"Do you want a hint?"

I sigh. "Sure. Give me a hint. What am I?"

"You're something that currently has no purpose, but you were made with a purpose in mind—"

"Tell me something I don't already know!!" I shout at him. I look him in the eye. He's amused. "There, I've humored you, you psychotic, pathetic excuse for a living organism."

No one is coming for me now, are they? No. No one knows I'm gone. Except for maybe that Warrior of Light. Maybe he sat back and watched Kefka kidnap me. Maybe he was even in on it.

That is one possibility that is definitely too ridiculous for reality.

"Why did Garland put you up to this?" I ask the ceiling instead of Kefka.

"Who said Garland has anything to do with it?" Kefka chortles.

"Well, you haven't given me a good reason for you to do this, so I'm assuming that someone else is working through you. Am I wrong?"

"What's it matter? You're dying."

My eyes go wide. "Did he tell you to seal me up in here until I die?!"

He leaves me then. I crumble back into my memories.

When the Emperor was finished with me, I had no voice. I had never screamed for my life before, I had never cried for my shattered self. I had never begged for mercy.

Trapped in silence, the only peace I found was in silencing the rest of the broken world around me. It was the first time of many to come that I locked myself in the muffling sanctuary of sleep.

I meant it when I said that he has no limits, no laws. No sense of decency. Coming from me, I suppose that seems askew, even ironic. Maybe I deserved what he did to me.

No, not maybe. How do you punish someone who thinks he knows no bounds? Subject him to someone who truly knows what it means to torture, to ruin, to violate without any moral inhibitions. None whatsoever.

I did deserve it. I deserved to be restrained and helpless, I deserved a jeering audience. And I feel sick. Sick to my stomach, because now I can't even feel as if I had been wronged.

If a soul who commits transgressions such as mine is wronged like I was, then there should be no mercy because it was nothing less than blind justice. The Emperor was just an instrument of retribution. He did nothing wrong. I was the one who offended the very gentle nature of life with my actions. I was the one who had the gall to crawl from the darkness into the twilight, hoping for an understanding hand.

Which is something I truly have never deserved.

I dream again of Zidane, a fantasy, a what-if. I lie on the floor in that crystalline labyrinth, and I hear him calling my name. At the sound, I curl into myself, my hair obscuring my skin, my face.

"Kuja, what happened to you? Look at me!" he demands.

I shake my head, and say nothing. I'm not convincing, and he pushes back my hair. Even though I made a conscious effort to hide myself, I don't object. It's as if I want him to know.

I let go. I sit up and he sees everything. My jacket, undone and slipping from my shoulders. The blood trickling from my scalp and the smudges along my collarbone. The loosened straps of my skirt, the welts tracing a line down to my hips.

Dream Zidane is paralyzed. He's figured it out.

In this dream, he came for me: he intuitively knew that I needed him. In reality, he wasn't there. The recognition that I needed him sits strangely with me. The more I think about it, the angrier I am. Why should I feel like I needed him? Why do I need someone who abandoned me?

When I wake up, it is later. Sometime. I don't know. I don't care.

"You see, boy, you have a problem. An understandable problem, but a problem all the same. You're too mopey, that's your problem."

His speech slides back and forth between a frantic pace and a meandering linger with about as much logical discretion as he must have applied to his dress.

"You're accusing me of having a problem," I tell him blankly.

"What's that? Can't hear you. So like I said, your problem is that you're too mopey. You're like a pile of snow slush. You're just sitting around, melting, and waiting to die."

"I don't have very many other options at the moment."

"Oh, come on. If you're not sitting in here, you're just sitting somewhere else. Let's be… realistic," he says, drawing out the word, "here, why don't we? Your problem is, you're a problem-based thinker. 'I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die'. Well, what's that going to do for you? You need to be more… goal-driven. Success-oriented. Know what I'm getting at?"

"You sound like a self-help pamphlet," I mutter.

"The good news is, you're not starting from scratch. You got it right the first time, boy. If you can't live, then no one else deserves to live either. I think that's a much healthier perspective. What the hell happened? You go soft or something? You spend some time in the sunlight and have this trippy 'the world's a beautiful place' happy thoughts session with yourself?"

He cackles. "Screw that! You think the flowers and the chirping birds and the sunshine are going to make it all right? Do they really do you any good?"

I spend an eternity gathering my voice.

"No… I can't even go out into the sunlight without burning."

"That's the spirit," Kefka tells me. I look at him, letting my stare do my talking for me.

He makes a disgusted face. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm not one of the people who took away your chance for a normal life. For a childhood, for friends. For a family. That's not my job. You want to get mad, you start with them. I mean…"

His voice drops, and his eyes fall to the floor. "It's not like they didn't know what they were doing. You don't just go around doing that without some idea. And without your sense of pride, what are you? You're not even less than human. You're a worthless bug. A worm, writhing around on the pavement, stupid and oblivious, before the sun roasts you alive."

And he meets my eyes again. "How old are you?"

I look back at him. "I don't know," I manage to answer him. "I… I always just knew that I was eight years older than Zidane. But I don't remember…"

"Was that how it always was with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did you ever exist except from in comparison to him?

I can't believe I wasted so much of my precious time thinking about such miniscule, unimportant details… like the Emperor. Like Zidane. In fact, it's so pathetic that I find it hilarious.

It starts as a chuckle. But then I sit back, and throw my head back and laugh.

And laugh…

I laugh until my throat goes hoarse, I laugh until my lungs ache. I laugh so hard that I cry, and I laugh again until the last tear falls.

And then I feel the rush of fresh air, and I'm free.

Kefka looks at me triumphantly. "So am I right, or what?" he gloats. And I smile, and rise to my feet.

"Of course you're right," I tell him, and then I lunge. With the magic barrier gone, the glass doesn't have a chance against me.

But for him, I don't bother with magic, not when there's a much simpler, albeit more brutal, solution. I remember a time when I flinched at the thought of getting my hands dirty. But now with my fingers and even sharper fingernails clenched tight around Kefka's throat, I wonder what all the fuss was about. Time to let go of all those useless inhibitions.

There's a question in Kefka's eyes. I think I know what it is.

"How did you think I was going to send this world to its eternal sleep if I don't have the power of the Crystal, hmm?" I whisper to him sweetly, and wait for him to stop thrashing.

"Now, tell me Kefka… what am I?"

His shard of the Crystal is more than happy to join mine.


	20. Sanctus

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Starting from here, Sephiroth (and Cloud!) start to take on stronger roles. Not that they weren't before, they were just chilling in the background. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Nineteen: Sanctus

Standing beside me, Bartz looks at me for a single, long second without turning his head. As if he's watching me, waiting for me to leap at him.

Then he turns towards me and slugs me hard.

How do you react to something like that when it comes from a friend? I don't know how, so I just don't. I stagger back a little in case he goes in for round two, but I don't think that's on his mind. Anyways, I'm not watching—I'm going to have a shiner in a little bit, and I'm a little more focused on waiting for the pain to ebb off.

Then he grabs my arm and pulls it away so that I don't have a choice; I have to look at him. "No you don't," he tells me through his clenched teeth. "And if you believe that, then you're not even really listening to yourself anymore. No wonder you act so lost all the time."

"How do you know?" I sulk. I sound like I'm five, but I don't care. "What makes you so sure? I don't see you having problems like this with Exdeath—"

"That's exactly why I know I'm right. You couldn't say anything nice about your brother before now, but you couldn't shut up about him either. You're worried about him and I bet you just don't want to face it if you lose him too and that's why you think you'd rather die!"

He looks at me with something that looked kind of like disgust, but I don't think that was it. "Zidane, are you happy right now? Does the thought of death make you happy? You'd better answer me truthfully."

"Yeah, it does!"

"Really? What's it feel like?"

"It's comforting, all right? I don't know if that's 'happy' in your book but it sure makes me feel better every time I have to think about what I'm doing next."

"Well, you're right. That's not what I call happy, and that's not what anyone else calls happy, either. You called it 'comforting'—well, comfortable just about sums it up. You're not happy about it, you're relieved. That's resignation, and failure, and giving up, Zidane. That's shutting your eyes and telling the world, 'if you can't see me, then I can't see you' and shoving off your responsibilities to those who are alive on someone else. You call that being happy?"

"What do you want from me?!" I demand. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"When's the last time you were happy, Zidane?"

"That's stupid, how am I supposed to know," I tell him. "I… I don't know. When I was with my friends. And they were all alive."

"Nothing with your brother?"

"Are you kidding? My brother's the cause of every single bad thing that's happened to me!!"

As I say it, I'm surprised at myself. Shocked. That some ugly lie like that came out of my mouth without me even thinking about it beforehand. And Bartz knows what I'm thinking.

"That's not true," I stammer. "But… but that's what I've been trying to tell myself. It's really weird being around a bunch of other people like… like us, all right? It's like someone telling me that everything I've learned is wrong, that everything I believe is wrong. Which is…"

"Which is downright stupid?" Bartz supplies. He sits down on one of the boulders.

I sigh and join him. "Which is downright stupid," I agree. "I mean, I'm not like the Warrior of Light or Cloud or… or you, even. Everyone had a different experience coming into this, and we can't expect each other to follow the same path as the next person."

"Zidane, that's the best thing I've heard you say in a really long time. So, uh, here's a question for you—why'd you leave him?"

"What?"

"Why did you abandon Kuja?"

"Bartz, it was that same uncertainty that made me do it. I was so sure of myself, so sure that I'd gotten it right when I rescued him. I was so sure of myself that I started second-guessing. I mean, Bartz, I don't have it all figured out and I don't pretend to. I went with my gut, but when I sat there with him in the dark desert that night, I started wondering if everything I'd thought was good about him was me just making stuff up. I mean, the bad guy doesn't live through fairytales. Only the hero and princess do. I started thinking about everything he did…and I looked at him. He looked so harmless, sleeping there. And I thought then: I'd been had. He fooled me. Which was paranoid, unjustified, and… I hurt him because of it."

Bartz hops off the rock. "You just need to tell your brother all that stuff instead of me," he says and claps me on the shoulder hard enough to push me off balance. "Now come on. Let's go get him."

I don't know what he's talking about. Then I remember that's why we're here in the first place. There's a sudden tightness in my heart at the thought of Kuja, drugged asleep, in that psycho clown's possession. Because I still remember that look Kuja has when he's asleep. He's innocent. He isn't capable of hurting anyone. But he cries out in his sleep, too. He's more than capable of being hurt.

It's not even the thought that I don't know what's going to happen to him—or what's already happened. I'm angry. Just the idea of someone doing that makes me want to hunt them down myself.

But I can't be angry. No. I have to be reasonable, because I have to keep my head when dealing with the followers of Chaos.

I've switched to thinking about how long we've been walking when Bartz throws his arm out, catching me right at my collarbone. "Sorry," he hisses, but then looks off. "Do you… hear something?"

Silent, I try to listen. And I hear it. We've stumbled upon a conversation, whoever's it is. Bartz grimaces, and we dash behind the washed-up looking boulder before we're seen.

Bartz looks at me. "The Emperor and Sephiroth," he mouths, and presses himself against the boulder. I duck even further down.

"…were you ever allied with me," The Emperor muses as we start listening in. The conversation does not seem to be going well, but these two are too busy trying to be superior to let the anger do more than simmer underneath their smirks.

"Are people such as us ever truly allies?" Sephiroth responds in kind. "I thought you would be useful in subduing the one who sleeps inside me, but circumstances proved to be quite the opposite."

The Emperor crosses his arms, looking somewhat less than pleased. "You're referring to my little angel of death."

"Some angel of death he must have been, if his mere presence has awoken Kadaj."

Kadaj… that's the person that Cloud mentioned. And I'm thinking that the Emperor had better watch who he decides belongs to him.

"Will Kadaj ever become a genuine problem?"

At that, Bartz looks at me. He doesn't risk even giving a hint about what he's thinking, not with them so close. We try not to breathe.

"Never," Sephiroth swears. I hear the delicate thin whine of him playing with the hilt of his sword, the thin metal sound of him mentally going through battle in his head as he only pulls out his sword maybe half an inch. "He's sullen and weak… not unlike your little angel. He's simply an annoyance."

"Which one are you referring to, I wonder," the Emperor remarks.

"Maybe both. You're wasting too much of your time on Kuja. If he doesn't want to work with you, then kill him and be done with it."

"I don't think I will. Sephiroth, I don't want him as an ally, like Ultimecia and yourself. I want to use him as a weapon. I want him under my control, I want him to be my possession to do my bidding as I will," the Emperor laughs.

The awkward silence is so thick you can practically feel it clouding the air.

"Is that so?" Sephiroth asks. His voice could freeze lava, it's so frigid. The whine stops, but I have a feeling that his hand hasn't left his weapon.

"Have I stumbled upon a sensitive subject, Sephiroth?"

"So I'm right in saying that you have no personal interest in Kuja? You think of him as a joke, one that fulfills both your needs and relieves your boredom? Tell me, Emperor, what do you think to yourself of Ultimecia, of me, when you don't speak your thoughts aloud?"

"Sephiroth, no one controls you. No one uses you. I have never seen you in that light, and I never will. You said yourself that the soul sleeping inside of you is sullen and weak, and will never become a serious threat. Kuja's vulnerable bravado is so instantly obvious that I recognized it even when he was sleeping, when we first found him."

"I think you were more interested in something else. You're not upset at all that he chose the Warrior of Light over you? Just be careful that you don't become too attached to him. I do have something I'd like to… discuss with him. You shouldn't make any plans that require his involvement."

Sephiroth's words are barbed with poison.

"You will not!" the Emperor shouts. "How dare you threaten me?!"

Sephiroth's next words are calm. Pleased, even, that he got under the Emperor's skin. "Those certainly sounded like words exchanged between equal allies right there, didn't they, Emperor?"

"Don't allow your ego to get in the way of what we're trying to accomplish."

"My ego? Tell me, Emperor… don't you have a name? Why do you insist that we call you 'Emperor' instead? If you're so dedicated to what is it that 'we' are trying to do, then I suggest that you determine what it is you need to accomplish, not waste time stroking your vanity."

"Sephiroth, was it truly worry about this Kadaj that made you join me? Was it proximity to darkness that you desired, so that you wouldn't have to risk being exposed to the light? If so, then you're in no position to speak to me in the way that you just did."

Sephiroth laughs. "Emperor, who do you think you are? Because if you're as deluded as you sound, then I suppose I can't blame you for not realizing just who you're dealing with."

We're both wide-eyed as Sephiroth turns and leaves the Emperor there. When the Emperor finally disappears, I let out a sigh of relief.

"What just happened?" Bartz asks.

I pause for a moment. "I think we just watched Sephiroth break ties with the Emperor. I think. But, we just learned something about Sephiroth's past too. Sephiroth doesn't like being someone else's weapon. I wonder…"

I'm wondering if there's something more to Sephiroth than just the look in Cloud's eyes whenever we mention his name.


	21. Pantomime

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I always think of the lab area as significant for more characters than just Terra and Kefka. It's my favorite area in Dissidia (and it's closed quarters and has a lot of walls, which I like, since I don't play keepaway with Kuja). Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty: Pantomime

"All right, all right, I don't want to die! Give it up already, Bartz, you win!"

"That's the spirit," Bartz smirks with self-satisfaction and looks down. He frowns, steps backwards a few paces, and then repeats his steps.

That's when I look down and see the sense in what he's doing. "Hey, these are different. We've finally made it… somewhere."

There are strange, sandish tiles beneath our feet. They've gone green in between with what's hopefully moss, but for some reason the whole effect looks too sterile to support life. A few more steps, and we find ourselves in a boxy hallway that smells a little like medical alcohol.

But there's another smell too. It's a smell of decay, of a body rotting. "Uh, Bartz, you getting this?" I ask, scrunching up my nose.

He frowns and then makes a carefully neutral face. "Yeah."

"Wouldn't you say that it's weird?"

"Yeah."

"Wouldn't you say we should probably go see what it is?"

"Uh… I guess so. Investigating weird smells isn't really at the top of my list, but while we're here, might as well see the sights."

I decide to make it a run as this strange place opens like an abyss in front of me. It's a lab. It's not like the ones I saw in Terra, but it's close enough to count.

And my footsteps freeze. It's like a dark sanctuary, quiet and lifeless as a cathedral but nowhere near as holy. But with something like sickening reverence, I press my palm against a glass vial that looks big enough to hold a person. I try not to think about how that's probably what it was used for.

Bartz comes up behind me. "Zidane, this place creeps me out. Can we not spend too much time here?"

I take my hand away. "Sorry. This place…I bet it would make Kuja freak out, is all."

"Yeah, well, looks like nobody's here," he says. He wanders off a little and keeps talking as he goes. "That being said, we should probably check out all those lower levels too, just in case—"

"Bartz?"

"Zidane, I think we have a winner here."

I sprint over to where he's standing, and then I see the corpse. "That's… that's Kefka," I say hesitantly. "He's dead."

Kefka's body lies dead on the ground. There's no obvious blood, and there's no breath. With his makeup on, he doesn't look any different from when he was alive, except for the eyes.

Bartz nods. "Yeah. Guess we found the place we're looking for, but with no Kuja in sight. Hey, check this out. Look at all this glass…"

I look down, and something that wasn't as immediately interesting but just as important catches my eye. All along the floor, shards of broken glass are scattered. "You don't think that Kefka kept Kuja… in one of those, do you…?"

"Looks like someone broke him out, though. Actually," he says, looking intently at the glass on the floor. "Scratch that."

I see what he's thinking. There's hardly any glass inside the base of the prison. So if Kuja was in there, he broke out on his own. I bend down, pick up a shard of the glass. And I notice: the edges are dulled. Only magic can do something like that in these circumstances.

"Hey Zidane, you know anyone with claws? Or at least really sharp nails?" Bartz asks me with a little bit of tension in his voice. "If you did, they would be your brother, wouldn't they…"

I kneel down next to him, next to Kefka's corpse. There are imprints around his neck, imprints that drew tiny pinpricks of blood. The makeup around his throat is smudged as if…

Kuja had killed Kefka. What more, he had strangled him.

"No, Kuja… This sounds stupid, but he's kind of a wimp when it comes to fighting. He's too lazy to do something like this. He would have used magic, he wouldn't have— this is impossible."

"Maybe it was someone else. Like one of the chicks—the Cloud of Darkness or Ultimecia. Or someone with gauntlets."

I think of what the Warrior of Light had overheard, how Kuja's façade had slipped during his conversation with the Emperor. I look back at the shattered glass, and back to the first glass prison.

Bartz stands up and warily watches me as I wander over there. He keeps his eye on me as I examine it, as if he thinks maybe I'm breaking like that glass. Don't worry about me, Bartz, I'm just checking something out.

There are buttons on the side. I can't read the labels, so I just press one to see what happens. There's a hiss, and the mechanisms slip into work. Something makes an unlocking sound near the top. I press another button; it lifts away entirely.

I don't know what makes me do it. But something dark inside me drives me to it. I spring up there and climb inside the glass prison, and fall not-so-gently to the base inside it.

I look out through the glass. It's a little foggy; Bartz seems out of focus as he comes up to me.

"What do you think you're doing? If you're just messing around, I swear—"

It sounds like his voice is coming from two places. Muffled through the glass, and clear but warped from the top of the glass. I shake my head. "Just give me a second," I tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

I don't remember anything about Terra. At least, not anything about Terra when I was a child. I have plenty of memories to go around from later.

I press my hands against the glass from the inside. There's enough room for me to stand, and enough room for me to curl into a ball and sleep kind of comfortably on the floor. Someone taller than me would have had trouble doing the same thing.

Someone bigger than me would probably feel a little claustrophobic in here, too, especially if they had to stay in here for any amount of time. But they would be drugged, wouldn't they?

Unless the intent was to drive them a little crazy. Crazy enough to let go of a few of their regular inhibitions, like fighting, if it meant getting back at the person who trapped them here.

"Bartz, I'm thinking it was definitely Kuja who killed Kefka."

"But you just told me that he wouldn't have done it."

"He wouldn't have been in one of these, then, either. But you saw that glass. The edges on the glass were smooth, so his magic must have broken it and melted the edges on the way. Bartz, if Kefka put Kuja in one of these, then Kuja wasn't really in the best frame of mind coming out."

He shakes his head. "But Kefka's crazy, not stupid."

I think back to the Warrior of Light's story. "No, he was just following orders. Garland must have ordered Kefka to…"

I suddenly forget how to speak.

"Garland must have ordered Kefka to break Kuja. And Kefka succeeded, but he was a little too good at his job."

"Why don't I know why any of this is happening," I grimace. Angrily, I half-heartedly pound my closed hand against the glass. And then I do it again, but harder. "This doesn't make sense! The last time Garland messed with Kuja's head, Kuja killed him and destroyed Terra! What's Garland trying to do, make Kuja come back for round two?!"

"Zidane, according to the Warrior of Light and what we heard, Garland isn't the only one Kuja doesn't like. There's three others out there by the names of the Emperor, Sephiroth, and Ultimecia. And wouldn't you know it, but those three are the same people that might challenge Garland's leadership in the near future."

I finish Bartz's train of thought. "And he thinks that if he can just point Kuja in the right direction, then Kuja'll do his dirty work for him—" My fist strikes the glass again, with all my strength. It doesn't even pretend to shatter. I can't bear to look at anyone when the next words tumble from my mouth.

"Bartz, Kuja can't be here in the middle of all this, he needs to be back on Gaia where nobody knows he's a loose cannon and he can be left alone and no one will use him like this—"

"Zidane, I don't think you understand. I'm not being used."

I swear that right then and there I jump at the sound of his voice. "Kuja…?" I say as I look up.

Then I stand up. "Where's Bartz?" I demand.

Kuja stands there, looking for all the world the very image of conscious self-possession and poise. "Somewhere else," he says, his voice so calm that it frightens me. He's not even smiling.

"Kuja…" I begin quietly, and then remember that the last conversation I had with him wasn't so reasonable on my side. "Are you the reason that he's somewhere else right now?"

"I am."

"Kuja… what's wrong with you?"

I watch him as he looks at me. His blank expression doesn't change even once. "I'm afraid even I don't know all the details. You should ask Garland; I'm sure he keeps a list on hand."

"Kuja, that's not what I meant! And you know that," I say, with desperation in my eyes. "Kuja, come on, what'd you do with Bartz? Why are you talking like that? You're freaking me out!"

"You're not worried," Kuja says, as if we're debating whether it will rain tomorrow. "You were never worried. About me, at least. But while you're worrying, worry about your friend instead…" he says, and his voice fades as if he was reading his lines off a script and forgot to turn the page in time.

I watch him as he walks over to the button panel on the side of the wall. "You have friends, and they will come and find you; that much is certain. And when they free you, Bartz will be patiently waiting for you, and so will I."

He presses a combination of two buttons, and the top snaps closed. I'm trapped.

I watch him as he cracks a smile. Then he laughs, and sinks into a bow before turning around and sauntering away.

"Kuja!!" I shout. I think I hear myself louder than he hears me. He disappears and doesn't even look back.


	22. Reliquie

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Terra and the Onion Knight have been gone forever, it seems like. I can't decide if I like Terra better with blond or green hair… either way, I still think it's unfair that she's the only girl on the Cosmos side of the cast. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty-One: Reliquie

I'm screwed, plain and simple.

I mean, probably not forever, but now would be a really good time to get out of this stupid glass thing, instead of later. And my magic is pathetic at best. If I could trance, then maybe I'd have enough force, but how am I going to trance without battle?

For all that just happened, I might as well have gone back to square one. I can't tell if Kuja's still just volatile or, more likely, he's finally gone off his rocker. And the last thing I want to deal with is Kuja being genuinely insane.

The worst part is, there is nothing stopping him from killing Bartz, not even the fact that he's using Bartz as bait. He doesn't have a motive for killing him, but that might or might not matter anymore. That doesn't make me feel better about being stuck in this glass prison.

A few choice words stream by in my head without me saying them out loud. Well, most of them, anyways. I don't miss the good old days when I bit my tongue so much more often because I didn't want Garnet to hear just how many not-gentlemanly words I directed towards Kuja.

And that's when I hear footsteps. Great. Heads or tails they're on my side?

Tails. I sigh in dread as the woman I recognize as Ultimecia sidles into my vision. She pretends like this is the first time she notices me, and smiles.

"I'm sorry, have you seen a silver-haired drag queen in the area, by any chance?"

I frown. Wouldn't do me any good to make enemies. "Do you think I would be stuck in here if I hadn't? That 'silver-haired drag queen' is my brother, by the way."

"Hmm. That's what I heard, but I must admit, I don't really see the resemblance. Anyways, I'm not looking for you, else I would set you free. I'm terribly sorry…"

As she turns to leave, I call out to her. "Ma'am, 'scuse me, but could you wait a moment and tell me why you're looking for him?"

She stops, and smiles slowly. Usually, a smile like that would send up serious warning flares to a guy like me, but I know she's trouble already. "Why, because the Emperor wants him and I find it in my personal interest to do a favor or two for the Emperor."

"Really? What kind of personal interest?" I want to know, but I give her a casual smile just in case.

Then I hear frantic footsteps.

"Stop right there! Zidane, don't worry!!" I hear a clear, high voice cut across the laboratory. Terra?

I see Terra run behind Ultimecia, with the Onion Knight in tow. Well, of all people, it's Terra and the Onion Knight come to my rescue.

Ultimecia ignores them. "I think you should be asking me about your brother's, ah, relationship with the Emperor, instead. Consider it in his personal interest. And it is very personal."

There's a spark in her eyes that tells me she knows something, something bad.

Then she turns around. "All right, I'm going, I'm going," she assures Terra and the Onion Knight.

"No you're not! You have a fragment of the Crystal with you!" Onion Knight calls out. He draws his sword and stands in front of Terra. Poor kid. I don't want to tell him he's way out of his league. So he'll just have to try harder and see what happens.

"And… what are you going to do about it?" Ultimecia smirks, and then disappears.

The Onion Knight doesn't even skip a beat worrying about Ultimecia; he runs up to me. "Zidane, are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?"

I laugh. "No, just pissed off. Press those top two buttons over there and I should be out of here in no time."

"Oh, okay," the Onion Knight says as he finds the buttons. "Zidane, can I ask what you're doing in there in the first place? Weren't you with anyone else?"

I hop out before answering. "Uh, yeah, about that," I mutter as I stretch. "You guys are my saviors, by the way. What happened was I was coming here with Bartz to get my brother, and… hey Terra, where'd you go?" I call out with a frown, and it only takes a quick scan of this level to find her.

I can barely see the top of her ponytail. She's kneeling over something. Something that happens to be Kefka's rotting corpse.

"… Terra?" I call out softly as the Onion Knight runs to her side. Heavy with uneasiness, I slowly walk over to her.

I don't know what to say, so I just report. "The Warrior of Light told me that Kefka had kidnapped Kuja. I… I had to come after him, and Bartz came with me. But when we came here, all we found was this shattered glass and Kefka, pretty much just like this. We guessed that Kuja had killed him. Strangled him, actually."

Terra's back is turned to me, so I can't even read the look on her face. "Kefka never really was one to know when to be tactful, or silent," she murmurs. "His words were always a weapon: either an affront to human reverence and sensitivity, or calculating manipulation. They always proved that no matter what he was doing, he really just didn't care about life. It's… strange. Ironic, even."

Onion Knight and I give her room as she steps back, and holds her hand over Kefka's corpse. A drop of magical flame passes from her hand, and quickly catches.

"Let's go," she says, and we don't have the guts to do anything but follow her, leaving the spontaneous funeral pyre behind.

Maybe fifteen minutes worth of unidentifiable, mangled scenery go by before Terra breaks the silence. "So to business," she says with an audible effort at being chipper. "Zidane, let me get this straight: somehow discovering Kefka's corpse led to you being trapped in that glass vessel by Ultimecia?"

I sigh. "Not exactly… Ultimecia was only there for about five seconds when you showed up. I did a kind of stupid thing and crawled into there of my own will, and in the moment I was in there, Kuja showed up, teleported Bartz somewhere weird, and then shut that thing on me and told me to come find him when I got out."

"Well, what's the point of that?" the Onion Knight wants to know. "If he wanted to talk, then he could have done it right there instead of going through all that trouble."

"Good idea, maybe you can tell him that," I laugh. It's obvious that Terra doesn't feel like talking about what happened, so it's the least we can do to lighten things up a little.

Really, though, Onion Knight asked a good question. Is Kuja just messing with me? It's not like he hasn't done it before.

No. I'm not going to go back to thinking about him the way I did before, even if it feels like Ultimecia pulled her time magic on me and I'm back then again, only with different friends and different things at stake. Like Kuja's life, and like existence as we know it.


	23. Infernal Dance

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

I definitely altered the words from Faure's Requiem during a bit of Kuja's internal monologue. Since I'm fairly sure that those original words were, in turn, either copied from or based on certain Mass sequences, I promise I'm not trying to offend anyone. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Infernal Dance

Oh souls who nourish my anger, allow me to bring the salvation that Garland would have deprived you of. Allow me to deliver you from punishment in the eternal, abysmal cold inferno of the afterlife, and from that eternal sinking, smoldering frozen lake. Let me deliver you from the mouth of the grizzled old lion, from the hungry bodies of the famished dead world that hangs in your heavens, lest you stray into that angelic, sterile light.

If I'm going to die, then I'm going to be at my most powerful when I depart and leave behind this soulless doll that's my body. I find it deliciously ironic that I've taken up residence within a giant tower of cogs and gears. If time won't stop for me, then it shouldn't stop for anyone else, either.

Usurper Lord Garland, King of the stolen, selfish glory of one, deliver from your grace this soul of the dead.

My heart still trills from excitement. It is enough to take my pale existence and set it aflame with the vibrant hatred of millions. I trance.

Soon you will be put to rest, my lovely collection of souls. Soon. And I will join you.

"Oh, good, you're alive. I was worried I'd have to carry your dead body back to the Emperor. When I went to Kefka's little tinker-toy lab and only found some mangy kid trapped there, I was wondering if you had anything to do with that. Can I ask what you're doing here?"

It's that old woman. Her voice echoes like a scratchy phonogram and sounds just as ancient.

"Terribly sorry, next time I'll request beforehand," I comment as she takes a few steps this way and that, until she finds him. The friend I stole from Zidane, who is taking an eternity to sleep off my magic. Truthfully, I'm nearly glad she has decided to come harass me; it gives me something to do while he takes his sweet time.

"A young man? And one of Cosmos'? Hmm, you'd better not let the Emperor find out. He'll get jealous."

It really bothers me how unattractive of a woman she is. Who does she think she's trying to fool, baring everything like that? She's trash. "You wanted to talk? I think now's a good time," I smile. I can barely keep the laughter from my voice.

She flinches. She's picked up on something. Took her long enough. "Oh, well, that's true. But there's no need to be confrontational about it. It's just that punk and I have something personal going on and it wouldn't be quite fair if I didn't deal with him myself—Kuja, why don't you calm down before we chat?"

"What, I'm not calm?" I ask her coyly, and run my fingers through my hair. A loose red feather comes off in my palm, and I watch it delicately cascade over the side, down into this tower's depths.

"What reason would I have to be anything besides calm, hmm? Besides, I think now's a good of a time as any," I add. Ruthless magic crackles freely in my palms.

She looks a little put off. "You silly boy, I'm here to offer you a deal on the Emperor's behalf and you're too busy—"

Her words were merely distraction. She holds out her hand, and time slips sideways. And she smiles. She thinks she's won. She walks towards me, stuffed of conceit and gloating over her own cleverness.

"Ultimecia, I've seen back to the Origin World itself. I've witnessed time from its birth until the far side of eternity. Do you think your little trick will work on me?"

Her eyes go wide, and she pulls back. Time rights itself again. Her voice is fraught with anxiety. "Kuja, I… I heard that you were dying. From the Emperor. How about we make a deal between the two of us? I can fix it—I can send you back, I can rewind your biological clock—"

"An agreement just between the two of us? Would the Emperor appreciate that? Are you here on the Emperor's behalf, or do you have something more personal in mind?"

"Oh, well then," she stammers, flustered. "Are the rumors true, then?"

"What rumors…?"

"That in that form, you destroyed a planet. The rumors that say this form you're in at the moment is the one that ripped the hole in spacetime that allowed you to travel to the Origin World in the first place."

"Are you trying to flatter me? If you are, it's working, but you won't gain anything from it."

I have a plan, and I don't want it to involve her. There's a shard of the Crystal that will be painfully easy for me to acquire.

I get distracted looking at my fingernails and I take my eyes off her. But she doesn't take the chance to strike. I think she knows better. The time witch is afraid, and the mere knowledge of that gives me so much satisfaction that I don't even bother to voice aloud my observation.

It only takes a moment, after all, to summon up the magic that I need. She wants to know if those rumors are true? I'll be more than happy to grant her wish.

By the way, Ultimecia is much better at dying than Kefka was.

I look up from my nails. Her corpse lies on the edge of the platform, one hand fallen over the side. If it's eternity that she wants so much, then I should give it to her. There's only one kind of eternity, and it's eternity that cannot be found in this world.

I gasp. There's a knife in my chest that digs into my very heart; white-hot fire that wraps around my throat. This is pain I have never felt before. Is this my death creeping on me?

The pain ebbs, and leaves the lingering taste of someone's regret. Am I irrational? Maybe. Did Ultimecia deserve to die? Maybe not. Do I deserve her fragment of the Crystal? Of course I do.

As I come to my senses, her corpse slips sideways like a mirage, leaving the Crystal behind. I hear her laugh. So I didn't kill her after all. Doesn't matter—it's only a matter of time. I'm sure she would that particular choice of words amusing.

"You're Kuja…?" I hear Bartz whisper under his breath.

"I'm glad you finally woke up," I say plainly. This is the one that Zidane chose to trust the most, out of all of them. So I tread carefully. "I suppose I did look different the last time we… met. I'm sorry to confuse you."

He slowly gathers himself to his feet. "You just tried to murder that woman! What reason did you have?!"

"You've no idea," I say, more for my own sake than his and then stare at him. Truth be told, I have no idea whatsoever as to what I'm going to do with him. I suppose that if I broke one of his limbs or if I spelled him to sleep again, that would at least keep him from running off—

The fire simmers inside of me, catches and roars. Maybe I won't harm him after all. As the pain subsides, and again leaves the aftertaste of regret and apologies, I notice that he saw me flinch.

I have an idea. Raise the curtains… now.

"I…" I stammer, and look to the ground as if I don't know where it went.

I shudder to my knees, cover my mouth with my hand in pretended self-disgust. "How much did you see? How much did you hear?" I beg him to answer me.

"Are you okay? Zidane mentioned you weren't doing so well, but—" he takes a few chancy steps towards me.

"What did you hear?!" I demand. "Please, tell me it wasn't much."

"Hey, easy, easy, I just woke up when I heard the magic go off," he says as he kneels in front of me, places his hands on my temples. I let him. The best stories are woven from the truth, so I only have to remember to make the tears fall.

"What'd she do to you? She works with the Emperor, right?" he asks me. His voice is gentle.

For the second time, I wonder. Is it possible that I want someone to know? That the truth wants to slip from its secure hiding place in my memories? Of course not. Why would I waste someone else's time with my sob story unless I can get something out of it?

"Please don't mention him. I didn't think that trying to kill her would affect me this much, I mean, she… she didn't even do anything. She just watched. Maybe that was it—she didn't intervene. She could have helped me, but instead she just laughed. It was fun for her."

"Hang on, Kuja, slow down. Talk to me. I'm listening."

Goodness, did this one come with me already prepared for a heart-to-heart? I sigh, and try to stop the tears. It's a pity they're almost real. "The Emperor… he…" I shake my head. "I don't want to say. I'm sorry."

And that fool Bartz looks at me for a long moment. "Hey, don't be. Your brother was worried when he heard that Kefka had kidnapped you. Kefka didn't hurt you, did he?"

Zidane wasn't worried. I feel better, knowing I'm not the only one lying here.

"No…" Kefka brought me to my senses. Who would have thought that the madman could have such a grounding effect on me? "He didn't hurt me. But…"

I close my eyes. This fool is obviously warmhearted, but I don't think he's quite as stupid as the others. I don't think I've won him over yet. "I killed him. I can't believe I killed him. And Sephiroth…"

"You killed Sephiroth too?!"

I shake my head fervently. "No, no, I didn't. But nearly. Hurting Sephiroth… didn't erase the memories. Didn't stop the nightmares… didn't scare away the Emperor."

"Oh, that reminds me. Tidus wanted to say thank you. He said that you probably thought he was an 'ungrateful bastard'—his words, not mine—and that he was sorry that Cloud spooked you before he got the chance."

Where do all of these tears come from? They are useful at a time like this, but one does have to wonder. "I…"

I feel as if there are two people inside of me: the one I am now, and the pathetic one that keeps these tears flowing. The other one was sleeping, but now I fear that it might wake up. It's time for intermission.

"Bartz, listen to me," I say with feigned conviction. "This is a composite of Kefka's, Ultimecia's, and my fragments of the Crystal," I tell him. I hold my hand to my heart, and from the air I synthesize a beautiful, perfect copy, one infused with magic that will bring Zidane to me. "Please give this to Zidane. I want him to hold onto it for me until all of you have reclaimed the rest of the shards."

"Wait, what?"

I look at him in mock despair. "If I were to choose between the Emperor and Cosmos… I would choose Cosmos. I won't let him win, not after—Bartz, go now. I feel him coming. Likely he sensed Ultimecia's plight. Hurry!!"

He bites his lower lip. "Kuja, thank you. Thank you from all of us," he says quickly and sincerely as he gets to his feet and starts to run off.

"Tell Zidane for me that I apologize from the bottom of my heart for shutting him in that glass prison," I call after him.

He stops and gives me a skeptical look. "You did what? Ah, never mind. I'll tell him," he assures me, and then disappears.

I wait. And then there he is. The words come easily.

"Good evening, Emperor," I say with all the force of a murmur as I rise. "What can you do for me?"

I'm sure that it is not until I speak, that he knows just who I am. Even though he must have had some idea, with the way he was looking at me, like some curious, dangerous flame.

"Ultimecia will not be pleased, I'm sure," he says. There's an intimate smirk, as if he just made a joke that would only mean something to the two of us. Whatever makes him happy. "Come here, Kuja," he tells me.

I don't. Not immediately. After all, if I just fall on top of him like some marionette whose strings have been sliced away, he's sure to suspect something.

"Oh, honestly. Am I that irresistible?" I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. "And here I thought you were actually going to accomplish something now that I'm here."

He doesn't like that, not one bit, but the important thing is that he believes that I'm genuine. With a frown, he stands up and draws near me until we're practically touching. "That'll come in time," he tells me, dangerously quiet. He's still smiling.

It'll give him something to do, anyways, to try and tame me.

I blink as his hand strokes my cheek; a terrible mistake. I close my eyes for fear that he sees the echo of what was once panic. It's so hard to let go of these cumbersome memories of mine, these annoying reactions.

As I pretend that passion has kept my eyes closed, I'm reminded of something. Of the years I spent with an enraged Garland after I 'freed' Zidane. The years that I spent sucking up to him, crawling on the ground like some worm, pretending that I was sorry, that I was in every way as obedient as he wanted me to be, just to have a chance at freedom some day.

No. No more anger. No more anything. Just resolution, revenge, and the sweet promise of death for everyone.

Slowly, I let the tension between my shoulders dissipate without him noticing; with a single resolute frame of apathy in my mind, the shaking in my limbs vanishes. That's better.

I don't even flinch as his arm coils around my naked waist. If it's what he wants, then what does it matter if I give it to him? It's curious to think about, anyways. Neither of us actually care for each other—I don't even fancy his….type… to say the least—but we go through the motions in an exercise of power. The Emperor abuses the motions of love to enforce his dominance, and I exploit my own feigned weakness to feed that illusion of his.

Illusions are so useful like that. They make people so weak. I was weak, once, when I maintained my precious illusion of immortality. Now I know better, and I'm stronger for it.

Besides, now that he thinks he has me, I'm sure that these mocked affections will wither in time. He believes he's already conquered me; the fun is all gone.

I'm fine with letting him think I'm his toy. Perfectly fine. It's so much easier not to care about anything except for one thing: my goal. My dream. Caring about myself was such a burden, one that I'm blissfully pleased to let go.


	24. Witches' Sabbath

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

See, Squall's alive! I didn't kill him or forget about him and leave him off in limbo by himself. There are some strange going-ons in this chapter. But Dissidia's kind of strange anyways (in a good way.) Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty-Three: Witches' Sabbath

Terra and the Onion Knight are great. Don't get me wrong. But after a while, hanging around Terra reminds me way too much of Garnet and Onion Knight reminds me of a much less mature me. And it's certainly been a while.

"What in hell happened here?" I comment as we stand on the edge of ruins. "Looks like there used to be a castle here…"

"If there was a castle here at some point in time, it certainly isn't here now," Terra adds as she steps delicately between the rubble. Onion Knight goes a little ahead of her, but I stay back and look at everything a bit more.

I wonder why a ruined castle would appear as a fragment of someone's world. Everyone else's fragments were intact, or at least seemed whole in their own strange way. This place just looked trashed. I'd be willing to bet that this happened recently.

"Hey Zidane, come over here," Onion Knight calls out. "Isn't this Garland?"

He's standing over a broken picture frame. The original canvas must have been huge, but it's buckled in on itself. The top part, however, showed a roughed-up oil portrait that definitely looked like the armored Garland from the Warrior of Light's world.

"This place was Garland's stronghold," Terra murmurs. "And now it's destroyed… I wonder if this was the Emperor's doing."

It was a long walk here. Certainly long enough of a walk to fill in Terra and the Onion Knight about all of our suspicions.

"Not the Emperor, directly. But you're close," a familiar voice that I haven't heard in a long, long time calls out to us.

"Squall!" Terra cries out with a smile on her face. He somewhat-gracefully jumped down from a pile of stones and stood up.

He sighs. He looks relieved, and way different from the last time we saw him. "It's good to see all of you again." He's calm, focused. Like he was frayed at the edges before, and now he's rock-solid.

"Hey, you're a sight for sore eyes. We were really worried about you!" the Onion Knight chirps.

And Squall makes an apologetic grimace. "I know that wasn't very responsible of me. I'm sorry. I had to take some time by myself. Which I know you guys don't think of as a change, but I needed to think some things through. While back, I ran into your brother, Zidane. He said some things that weren't very pleasant to hear, but I guess I needed to hear them. You know, to put things in perspective."

I flinch. "What'd he say?"

"The details don't matter. He said some things that weren't really true, but my frame of mind at the time made them true enough. I could have come back angry, but instead I stayed away. I think that was for the better," Squall adds.

"Sorry my brother did all that. You must hate him now."

But he just shakes his head. "No, as long as he's got a soul, then… it's hard to explain. But Zidane, you should know that your brother is the Emperor's weapon. He destroyed this castle, and now he's got as much of a soul as the dirt we're standing on, and even though the rumor is he has quite a few of the Crystal shards in his possession, he's the Emperor's puppet."

I feel their stares on me. It's almost painful. "What? No, that's impossible. He's playing a game. He's pretending."

And I watch him shrug. "Well, he's very good at it, if that's the case. Either that or he just doesn't give a damn about anything anymore, which is the impression I got. Something's up, either way. Ultimecia's avoiding me. That's not like her."

"We saw her," Terra tells him. "When we found Zidane."

Squall frowns. "Really? That's interesting…"

"She said that it was in her best interest to help the Emperor," I add, "but she wouldn't tell me why. She sounded weird when she said it, though."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Squall remarks. "So what are you three up to?"

"Looking for Bartz," the Onion Knight answers. "Kuja took him. What about you—"

The Onion Knight pauses. No, he freezes. I look at Squall and Terra—Terra is frozen too. It's just Squall and me.

In an instant, he's ready to fight. "Draw your weapon, Zidane," he mutters through his teeth. "Get on guard. I'll watch your back; you watch mine."

Ultimecia.

"Did you say you missed me…I'm so sorry to have ignored you, I was rather busy," she purrs as she fades into vision. "How are you doing? I heard that Kuja bothered you; I told him to stop, so you won't have to worry about him anymore."

And then she smiles at me. "You again? What a pleasant surprise."

"Give me a break, Ultimecia, you knew I was here or else you would have frozen me right along with Terra and Onion Knight."

This makes her beam with delight. "You're smarter than Kuja said you were. Squall must be such a good influence. I'm so glad the both of you are friends!"

Thanks a bunch, Kuja.

"What do you want," Squall demands. "If you're here to fight, then just do it already."

"Why would I go through all this trouble to stop time and hold this conversation if I just wanted to fight you? No, I wanted to give you something to think about."

"You want to lie to us, you mean," Squall says to her. "All right, what's your game?"

"There's no game," she says with some amount of sincerity. "You're smart enough to figure things out, Squall, and Zidane, you're… getting there. And you're more personally invested than Terra or the Onion Knight over here anyways. If Firion were here, then this would be perfect. But I suppose one can't have everything," she sighs.

"In the case that you still regard me with suspicion, then I'll have you know, Squall, that my complaint is first with the powers that be. Please don't take offense, but you're a long, far-off second."

"You mean Chaos?" Squall growls. He doesn't let down his guard.

"Chaos certainly plays a part. Listen to me: I have informed the Emperor that Kuja is the Avatar of Chaos."

"How do you know that?" The words tumble from my mouth before I can control them. "You would have to be speaking with—"

"With Cosmos, yes," Ultimecia answers. "I know what you're thinking. Trust me: some things are just… more important. The Emperor wants Kuja to manifest himself as the Avatar of Chaos, because he believes that Kuja is under his control."

"I don't believe you for a second. Why are you telling us all this?" Squall retorts. "If you're in good with the Emperor and Kuja, then why don't you have your Crystal?"

"I gave it to Kuja. He didn't know that I had given it to him of my own free will; it was important for him to believe that he had taken it by force. It's crucial that Kuja goes against his nature…"

If she's telling us all this, then what does she want? Why has she been talking with Cosmos? And why hasn't Cosmos told us?

Because Cosmos wouldn't have wanted to betray Ultimecia's confidence. It's not like I haven't heard someone be snotty before. It's just something to hide behind.

"Squall, I think… I don't know what I think," I correct myself.

He apparently does. "Ultimecia, if you want us to believe you, then unfreeze time. Then I can call Cosmos and we'll see what she says."

I didn't think that she would agree. I thought that Squall was just calling her bluff. But with a wave of her hand, time moves again and I hear a muffled cry of surprise from Terra and the sting of metal as the Onion Knight unsheathes his weapon.

"Hold off a second," Squall tells them. "Cosmos, can you hear me?" he bids the sky. "We need your light to see through the darkness. Please come to us."

"Squall, Zidane, what is going on here? Why is Ultimecia here?" Terra demands just as Cosmos appears.

"Cosmos," the Onion Knight gasps and scrambles to bow. We all do the same. Even Ultimecia respectfully bows her head.

"It's good to see you all," Cosmos says softly. "Ultimecia, if you're here, then it must mean that you have told them. You should feel pride in your courage," she adds.

"Something like that, perhaps," Ultimecia smiles weakly.

I don't know what to think. Here is Cosmos, standing in front of us, and confirming perhaps the most insane story I have ever heard in my life. Ultimecia isn't Jecht or Golbez. Squall never once vouched for her ambivalence.

So I'm the first to talk. "Okay, Cosmos, what's going on here?"

"Ultimecia's reasons for her alliance with us are personal and will be treated as such," Cosmos addresses us all. "But I do vouch for her loyalty to me. My warriors, I can no longer approach this battle from… well, the point of view of battle," she says with a sad smile. "If I lose any one of you, then it would be akin to losing the Crystal all over again."

"We must be strong, and Ultimecia's abilities will help us to be so. We must bear the loss of the Crystal for a little while longer. Most importantly, we must fight… without reckless fighting. Zidane, you've ignored my request. I understand that it is a difficult task I ask you to accomplish, but understand also that the task of asking was difficult as well."

I look up at the beautiful goddess. "Cosmos. I can't. He's my brother and I care about him. I know that he's the avatar of Chaos, but doesn't that just mean that he could go either way? Isn't there anything you can do to help him?"

"Zidane, what's she talking about?" Terra asks me softly.

"Cosmos wants me to kill him," I murmur.

"Zidane, think for a moment about the conditions of your brother's life," Cosmos says then.

"I know, I know. He's going to die. Soon. That's why I'm asking you to please do anything you can for him! I don't want his last days to be swallowed up in darkness."

"Darkness will define his last days whether you wish it or not. As his strength weakens, Chaos' hold over him will tighten. And as Kuja gives in, Chaos will leave its old host and inhabit Kuja instead. Chaos will use the image of your brother against you, and against all of those amongst us whose lives have crossed with his."

The floor's suddenly very interesting. "Cosmos, do you know what you're asking me to do?"

"Yes. Zidane, I'm asking you to make the right decision instead of the decision that you think you want. I want you to consider your brother. You saw him, Zidane. And you didn't know him. Soon, there won't be any part of him that you will recognize."

I shake my head. "But no, that's just it. Even when he's not in the right place, that's him, that's Kuja. I know it's not the prettiest sight, but it's all Kuja."

"Zidane, I'm asking you to put your faith in me. To trust me that I'm right. What would your brother want? Would he want to die while he still has himself, or would he rather let control over his life slip away from him, turning him into someone else's puppet?"

That answer I know immediately. "He'd rather die."

If that's so, then why would Cosmos tell Ultimecia that he's the Avatar of Chaos, and why would that get to the Emperor? He's the Emperor's puppet at this very moment.

"Zidane, I'm not asking you to kill your brother out of enmity towards Chaos, or out of anger or anything else. I'm asking you to kill your brother out of compassion for him. It's because you care that I asked you, instead of one of the others, who would have few of your misgivings about the task."

No, maybe it would have happened anyways. Is time running out?

"And Zidane… do you still want to join Garnet after this?"

"I don't know. I thought I didn't, but I…"

I swallow hard. I don't have anything to say to her.

"Squall," Ultimecia says then as she turns to the only other person who survived from their world. "I know this is strange, and I understand if you are hesitant. But all the same…"

She extends her hand.

Squall gives Cosmos one long, bedraggled look before he sighs. "For Cosmos," he says and warily shakes Ultimecia's hand.

"For life," Ultimecia answers him.

Cosmos' cool hand lights on my cheek. I close my eyes. "Zidane, do you remember your life before you knew of Kuja's existence? Remember back to before you defined your life in terms of his. You will feel pain, but time and friendship will turn the pain into nothing but a memory. The chains of destiny that keep you both connected will eventually sever, and you will be able to live your life freely once more."

"… is that a promise?" I laugh weakly.

She smiles sadly as she takes my hands in hers and holds them like a prayer. I don't realize until much, much later that she never said 'yes.'


	25. The Silken Ladder

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Tidus takes the stage at the end of this chapter (this chapter and the next one are kind of where all hell breaks loose.) Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Silken Ladder

Why am I crying? This is incredibly annoying, almost as annoying as the cathartic pain burrowing into my heart. It leaves me empty. I have nothing with which to fill the absence, and the longer I rely upon it, the sweet promise of death both fails to sate the abyss inside me and succeeds in comforting me.

Comfort… but not happiness. I'm resigned to my desire that is no longer a desire but simply a means to an end.

"Kuja, are you feeling better than before?" the Emperor asks me. I lay like an offering to Chaos in his crystalline labyrinth, and he watches over me, the least trustworthy of guardians. I very nearly miss Jecht and Golbez. When they wished to harm me, they only spoke. I can sleep through words.

"Yes," I lie. "I don't know why I had such an odd reaction to your fragment of the Crystal."

"Hmmm… yes, what a strange reaction indeed," he laughs knowingly and his hand settles on my feathers as if I were his dog. He knows something, something I'm unaware of.

I don't bother to ask. I have the pain; it answers enough of my questions. It is the same exact pain that Garland described to me, the burning fire. The Crystal no longer gives me warmth. I don't even have the Crystal's pity. Which means I must be getting very, very close to my goal. There's only one thing to take care of before then. Zidane, the only person who can shake my security.

And then the Emperor looks at me with that stare of his. The stare that stirs the memories. I watch guardedly as he traces a line through the feathers on my chest.

"Look what I found, Emperor," I hear Ultimecia's voice call out with a smirk of accomplishment. I look to my side, and there she is, standing there triumphantly, with Bartz in tow. He's conscious and looks very put off.

"Kuja, I'm sorry, I couldn't get to Zidane before Ultimecia—" And then he pauses. The Emperor hasn't pulled away from me. I know what thoughts have caught Bartz's tongue.

Taking advantage of the silence, the Emperor clears his throat. "Ultimecia, you're still not mad, are you?" he asks.

She frowns. "What do I have to be mad about?"

Her words are genuine, and it is only after she has spoken that she seems to recall. "Ah, that's right. That little punk stole my fragment of the Crystal. But it's no matter any more. You'll do more good with it than I ever will." And then she laughs for no apparent reason, as if she told a joke that only she understood.

Satisfied, the Emperor now turns on me. "Kuja, what is this person talking about? What would he have done for you had Ultimecia not found him first?" He talks to me with a feigned kind voice, one that warns under the surface. I'm not in the mood to be threatened.

"Nothing," I tell him. "He's obviously insane. I don't know what he's talking about."

That makes him smile. "I understand. Well then, what are we going to do with him? Give him to Exdeath? But I really don't want to bother with Exdeath. Why don't you kill him for me?"

I narrow my eyes. "I'm afraid I haven't the energy," I say, piercing each syllable with fire.

"Oh? And why is that? You told me that you were feeling better just a few minutes ago, and now you find yourself weary again?"

Does he really want to call me out right now?

Then Bartz speaks, and ruins everything. "Kuja, if you come with me, I'll take you straight to Zidane! I promise. Cosmos has gathered everyone together. Well, everyone except me, obviously, and the Warrior of Light, who didn't answer her call. But what's important is that Zidane will be there!"

I see Ultimecia's face pale. Whatever it is, she does not look pleased. And neither does the Emperor.

"Kuja, is this little something with your brother actually this important to you?" he sneers, and brushes my feathers from my face. I flinch and pull away. I sit up, and then despite the pain, I stand back and put a few feet between us.

"Yes," I tell him. And then I smile. "Very much so…"

"Don't be so petty."

His words are like a bitter taste in my mouth. "Allow me to be petty this one last time," I retort. "Besides… I now have your fragment of the Crystal. It would do you well to treat me with a little more respect."

The Emperor stands. "Do you think you've caught me by surprise? Do you think that your subterfuge went undetected? Kuja, I don't think you understand. You've let that adorable, vulnerable bravado of yours get the best of you. You can't play the same game with the likes of me that you played with those heroic fools from your world. No…"

"Kuja!!" Bartz cries out just as the Emperor raises his hand with magic streaming into his fingers. He catches my attention just in time, and my magic teleports me out of harm's way.

But the Emperor isn't even disappointed. "Kuja, you thought you were fairly clever on your world, didn't you? Just because you fooled Garland for so many years… you didn't even last seconds under my gaze. That's why Garland is on borrowed time, and I am not. Kuja, this is no game. This is real, and you're nothing more than a naïve little boy in comparison to me."

Fury wells up inside of me. "Then why do you need me?"

He laughs. "I know better than to contain so much dark, destructive power within my own being. Chaos is a double-edged sword, and if I can get someone else to wield it, then so much the better for me. It will be hard for me to resist you when you have the entire Crystal in your possession."

I smirk. "Garland thought he could control me too. And he made me. I'm no one's Angel of Death—what makes you think you can control me if you did not even create me?"

"Kuja, do you know what I'm going to do to you when I'm bored with this conversation? I'm going to beat you within an inch of your life, and then show Bartz what I did to you when we first met, so that he can run away and tell your little brother. Would you like that?"

The mere thought of Zidane knowing makes me stop. My carefully spun resolve blows away like sand in the wind.

I glare at him. "Come and get me, then," I say slowly. "If you can, that is."

My magic teleports me to Bartz's side. "Let's go," I order him. He doesn't have a chance to respond, but I have a feeling that he would have agreed if there was time.

"Where are we going?" I demand from him. We stand in the in-between limbo, amongst the scattered boulders and lifeless dirt. He's disoriented, but he pulls himself together and answers me.

"Your Crystal World," he says. But he stops me before I cast the proper magic. "Kuja, are you okay? You're shaking."

I hadn't noticed. "I'm not okay," I respond. "I'm not going to be okay."

"Um, okay, then," he says hesitantly. "But uh, when we get there, I'm thinking that maybe it wouldn't be so good if you just walked in. We should make sure that Cosmos isn't there. Just so you don't have to deal with anything more."

"…why are you so helpful?"

"Because you're Zidane's brother. And because the Warrior of Light sensed the light within you. I trust his word. Kuja, what did the Emperor do to you?"

"Nothing," I growl. "We're going now."

But when we step onto the fragile glass ground of the Crystal World, Bartz doesn't even waste time with being cautious. He ducks behind a crystal pillar and drags me along with him.

There's silence.

"So wait. It's not just Zanarkand? Spira's nothing but a dream too? You guys knew, and you didn't tell me?"

That's the voice of Jecht's son. It's the one whose life I saved. I wince as my breath incinerates me from the inside.

He makes a wordless breath of disbelief. "That's great. That's just really, really great. So as soon as my purpose is done here, I'm just going to disappear and that'll be the end of it. Hell, if I'd known that, I never would have followed Cosmos in the first place."

"I'm not doing this. No way. I'm out of here. And if you guys are smart, you'll get out of here too. Can't believe I fell for the same play twice… dammit!"

"Tidus, what are you talking about?"

That's Firion, the Emperor's counterpart.

"She's doing the exact same thing to us that Yu Yevon pulled on Spira! Tell a bunch of people that you're the world's only hope. Nice, good-hearted people like us eat that stuff right up, don't we? Huh? In the end, you're all just going to be screwed over. You watch. That Cosmos isn't on our side. She's playing us and when we're done doing her dirty work for her, then she'll throw us to the wolves and wave at us as she waltzes off."

"Tidus, what about Chaos?" Firion demands.

"What _about_ Chaos? Sin was Yu Yevon's puppet, too!"

"Tidus, listen to yourself. You're accusing Cosmos—_Cosmos—_of being in control of Chaos." This time, it's Zidane.

"I've been listening! Why don't you shut up and listen to me too?!" he demands, but then backs down. "No. You know what? Forget it. Forget all of this. For all I know, this is all a dream, too. I'm done here. Say 'bye' to my old man for me, if you ever get the chance. Maybe he'll figure it out too. Nice knowing all of you. I'm going back to the Farplane."

Bartz looks up at me. "This is crazy. I've got to put a stop to this—"

"The what—Tidus! There's nowhere for you to go back to!! That's the point of all of this—" Zidane protests. "Tidus!!"

Forgetting Bartz's caution, I step out of my hiding place just in time to watch a train of multicolored motes of light dissipate into the air.


	26. The Force of Destiny

Disclaimer: I don't own Dissidia.

Sorry for taking so long to update! I don't know what actually happened, but here I am now. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Force of Destiny

Zidane pulls back. "Kuja? What'd you do to him," he growls. "Tidus just disappeared. Died. I don't even know. Why'd you bother saving him if you were just going to do worse than Sephiroth? Why couldn't you leave him alone? What's wrong with you?"

Behind me, Bartz makes a rather impatient noise. "Wait a second. Zidane—"

I don't have time for him. An annoyed flick of magic in his direction keeps him from interrupting. I know that I really should do the same with the rest of Cosmos' host of warriors, but something dark in me wants them to hear something at least.

I was wrong to believe that I could hold back. Pain, rage, everything explodes inside of me.

"What do you mean, what's wrong with me?" I seethe. "I didn't do anything. The only thing that's wrong with me is that I was brought into this sorry existence first instead of second!"

I seem to have stunned my entire audience. Good. Let them all know. Let them all know everything about the one who will bring to them oblivion, so that they might understand—if they're smart enough—and even thank me for saving them from life, for sending them to sweet, thoughtless and ever-comforting sleep.

"Kuja, uh," Zidane stammers as he begins some hastily put-together self-defense. Then he closes his eyes. "Kuja, okay. I'm sorry. Talk to me… this is your last chance."

My last chance? Before what? What's he going to do, kill me?

I laugh. "Since when was I ever given a chance? You didn't even give me a chance. You taunted me! You're the one who waved Cosmos' grace in my face and then took it away! You abandoned me!"

Of all things, Zidane hears my words and this only makes him smile. "You're still you," he says gratefully. "For a little while longer, at least. Kuja, uh, about that. I…"

He sighs raggedly. The one called Cloud steps up to Zidane, places his hand on his shoulder. With this motion, the rest of them gather around him like a shield. The gesture upsets me to no end. A pang in my chest echoes with a voice.

_Please stop… this isn't you. This isn't the Kuja I once knew…this isn't the Kuja who lay dying in the Iifa Tree, alive for the first time._

I flinch. "Stop talking to me, whatever you are," I mutter viciously.

"Kuja, listen," Zidane says earnestly.

"Shut up!" I snap. "I don't wanna hear another word from you! What are you gonna tell me next, that my name's a lie and I don't even have that much to call my own?"

"Kuja—" he pleads as he waves off his friends, and steps forward. They exchange disgustingly heartfelt words of some kind. I don't bother to pay attention. I don't want to hear them. But they leave, with the one named Firion shouldering Bartz and leaving last. We're silent for a very, very long time, until we're given peace.

"Kuja, come on, calm down. I'm not the one who made those decisions. That was Garland. You know that."

"I don't wanna see your face ever again!" Magic, angry, angry magic crackles in every vein in my body. "If I'm not worth saving, then what makes you so special?! Why don't you go back to your precious friends and leave me alone in peace, since that's what you're good at?"

"Kuja, you're the one who came here. With Bartz. Who you knocked out with magic," Zidane shrugs. "But still."

"I came because you're so annoying that I don't even have to be near you to be bothered by you!" He dodges. Not because I miss, but because the fire flares up in my heart and I stumble.

_Don't do this. You don't want to do this, you're just hurt. Hurt and confused, and lonely. You don't have to be lonely anymore. You don't have to fight for something you don't believe in. You don't have to watch friends gather around someone else while you're left in the cold. Kuja, please stop and rest. Stop and think. You're going to kill yourself._

"Agh, stop talking to me!" I hiss. Where is this voice coming from? I need to get rid of Zidane so that I can pay more attention to this matter.

_No, you don't need to destroy him. The only person you're destroying is yourself. Stop it._

"Just leave me alone!!" I shout, louder than I should.

"Kuja, no one's talking to you! We're the only ones here," Zidane calls out to me. So now I'm not only making things up in my head, I'm hearing voices too. Well, at least I don't do things halfway.

_Stop it now._

"No," I whisper. "No. I won't save myself."

I look over to Zidane. He hasn't even unsheathed those pitiful little daggers of his. Isn't that the nickname he had for Garnet, 'Dagger'? Why does that even matter?

Oh, that's right. It doesn't. Because apparently my remorse isn't good enough.

"Zidane, answer me," I say, my voice boiling over with fire. "Did you save me in the Iifa Tree?"

"Kuja, I did! I did, you didn't imagine it. That's what I've been trying to say, to—"

"To what, apologize? 'Kuja, I'm sorry you have the most pathetic excuse for a life that I've ever seen'? What were you gonna do, lie to me so that I feel better about myself? I don't need your lies and I don't need your pity! I don't need anyone's pity!!"

It's time. I close my eyes. He can run all he likes, he can't hide from this magic. This is the magic that shattered the Crystal. It will tap the very wellspring of my life to fuel its fire; it will eventually kill me. I'm so happy that I start to cry.

"Goodbye," I whisper in a playful, singsong tune. The only requiem I receive is the one that I sing for myself. How appropriate…

"Stop this right now, boy!!"

I open my eyes to see Garland standing in front of me.

"You've gone far enough. If you blow yourself up, you'll destroy those fragments of the Crystal along with you—"

I watch Garland's gauntlet swing beyond my vision and I hear the sickening crack of bone. Maybe that was Zidane. Without even pausing, that same gauntlet reaches out to me, sinks into my heart and wrenches from me the shards of the Crystal.

I breathe in. No. I choke on air instead and the blood that I gag blends perfectly into my feathers.

"I'm done with him for now. You can have him until I need him again," Garland growls. And I see the Emperor.

"You're too kind, Garland," the Emperor sneers. His eyes don't leave me. "I'm afraid you just don't see the potential in him like I do. You'll regret this as soon I've taken good care of him and he's regained his strength."

No. Never.

Despair is fine fuel for my magic's fire, but fear works just as well. The Crystal World crumbles around me; it seems as if I've brought time itself to its knees and then shattered it. I barely manage to stagger to my feet and open a path to another world—to be honest, I don't even know which one it is—before my body fails me completely.

Without the feeble light of the fragmented Crystal, deathly cold wraps itself around my very core. I fall into darkness as Garland's last curse consumes me.


	27. Symphony of a Thousand

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Well, you know what I mean.

Late last night some time, I realized that Zidane definitely had hot potential (he's too young so he's still at the 'cute' stage.) I always knew he was cute, but it was a sort of acknowledgement rather than 'wow, you're... definitely getting there.' Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty-Six: Symphony of a Thousand

I'm buried alive in crystal rubble. I'm fine—or at least, that's what I realized after I woke up with a big bruise across my middle and an even bigger one on my back. I just can't move. If I'm calm, I can breathe, but I can't get out, and I can't go after Kuja.

He is going to kill me when I find him. But that's okay; he'll get over it. Maybe this will be like last time; now that he's gotten all that out of his system, he'll be calm enough to talk. But I didn't like the way he sounded after Garland took the Crystal fragments from him. It was like those fragments were the only thing keeping him alive and without them, he was finally bowing down to the poison sleeping in his blood.

And it occurs to me. Short of a miracle, he's going to die no matter what I do.

I sigh and try to shift a little under the rubble as the dappled golden light splits in through the cracks above me. I wonder if I should call out, and if I did, who would find me. I decide to give it a try.

"Hey!" I shout. "Hey, anyone there?"

No answer. Well, that was fun.

So where do I find a miracle? And when did it change from me wanting to make sure Kuja's last days didn't completely leave him alone and desolate, to me wanting to change his fate?

Must have been all this business with Chaos. With everyone else trying to change fate, I guess I just got inspired. Or maybe I just thought that it wasn't fair. Kuja changed my fate when he smuggled me out of Terra, changed the fate of Mikoto and the rest of the Genomes when he destroyed Terra and in a strange way liberated them, and changed the fate of our entire world, even though it was not immediately for the better.

"Seriously, if anyone's there, I don't care who you are, get me out of here," I call out.

When's his chance? One that doesn't involve sinking all of existence into darkness, that is.

"Zidane? There you are," I hear, along with cautious footsteps that trigger shifting sounds in the rubble. I hear gauntlets scrabbling at the rocks, and the dappled light above me gets brighter.

And then slowly, I put together the face of the Warrior of Light.

"Quick, there's not much time," he says breathless as he offers me his hand. As he pulls me to my feet, hasty healing magic washes over me.

I look blankly at him. "You deliberately ignored Cosmos' call. What's going on? Where've you been?"

He sighs and something heavy settles behind his eyes. "With Garland," he tells me.

"With Garland?!" I repeat.

He looks off at the damage, as if he didn't really see it before now. Then his gaze returns to me, and it's practically haunted. "Yes. We've had much to talk about. It's been slow of course, considering his constraints. Zidane, he told me that you would be here; I had to make sure you were safe before…"

He's not making any sense at all. "Before what?" I ask, hoping to get some clarification out of him.

"There are questions of mine that must be answered. Zidane, you must find your brother. Before it's too late."

"I already know that," I say with resignation.

He's shocked. He glares at me sharply, and his reply is a hiss, as if we'll get in trouble if we're overheard. "You already know… how do you know?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?" I want to know. "Warrior of Light, if you're holding out on me, you can cut it out. This is my brother we're talking about, here."

But he just shakes his head. "No. I cannot spread hearsay and my own conclusions as if they were fact. I need proof, I need evidence. Perhaps Ultimecia will be able to confirm my story, but I fear that I must trouble Garland once more. He tried to tell me in so many words, without letting it be known directly what secrets he was sharing, but he only confused me more."

"Oh, come on, give me a break," I sigh. "Warrior of Light, now you're confusing me too."

"No," he says quite seriously. "I can't share the thought. If I'm wrong, the ramifications would be disastrous. Cataclysmic. But if I'm right, then... then Light help us all. We'll certainly need it. Zidane, just get to your brother before Cosmos does."

What?

"Before Cosmos," I echo. "What do you mean, before Cosmos gets to him?"

"I spoke to Tidus. I'm afraid it's my fault that he's gone, now. I didn't realize that my words would affect him so… I thought he was stronger. Maybe he was stronger, in his own way. But it simply means that we're one short against an enemy that swells every moment."

"What kind of enemies are we talking about? You say that like... like it's nothing we've seen before."

"Zidane, in the Origin World, Chaos is not something abstract that infects and darkens the heart. It is something material, something twitching and lurking in the shadows, that devours the light within and uses it to sate its gluttony. It's a host of ghoul-eyed wraiths, thousands upon thousands of manifestations of the darkness eating away at your heart."

"Was Tidus right?"

"He was right if I'm right. I pray that I'm not right. I pray that I'm being misled by Garland. But the time during which he would have benefited from misleading me is far gone, and he is… Zidane, Garland is in pain. The Garland that we see is a monstrosity, a chimera crafted to meld your Garland's menace with my Garland's power, crafted with only one purpose."

"Who's behind this? The Emperor?" I want to know.

"No. Zidane, the one you loved. Her name _was_ Garnet, wasn't it?"

I grimace.

"… yeah."

"Her death was not an accident. It was deliberate, and it was murder. And it was staged so that you would react as you did. But the fault doesn't come from anyone in your world. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

I feel the blood drain from my face. "I think I get what you're getting at. I—can I trust you, Warrior of Light?"

He's stunned, as if it's a question that he's asked himself so many times. "I don't know," he says softly. "Go find your brother. And one more thing, Zidane."

I don't think I can handle anything else, but who else is there here? "Sure, anything," I answer him.

"Do not allow the Crystal to fall into Cosmos' hands. I'll be as swift as I am able. And I will find you," he promises.

Hell.


	28. By Angel Hands to Valor Given

Chapter Twenty-Seven: By Angel Hands to Valor Given

I hear voices. Am I dead?

No. There are memories. Shaky remembrances, but enough. I remember the gathering of the Cloud of Darkness and Exdeath, of Jecht and Golbez, and Garland around me. The presence of the Crystal is whole, and I am dying a welcome death.

They are ordered away. Only Garland remains. He mutters something strange, about an avatar and about Chaos. There's a light, and then a scream from beyond the grave. Garland's. And then muffled, sleepy darkness once more.

The sickening grease of a nightmare remains on my skin, streaked in places I don't want to think about. But it haunts me, pulls my nerves tight.

It takes me a moment to realize that the voices belong to Jecht and Golbez, and it is me that Jecht and Golbez are discussing. "I don't know. Didn't expect him to make it this far."

"You brought him with us, fully expecting to have a corpse on our hands?"

"Yeah, I did. In that, well, 'event', I was hoping he'd wake up for the… you know, for the last bit, at least. Dying in your sleep's no better than dying alone. And whatever you can say about what he's got coming, when it comes to dying, all bets are off."

"He should be dead already, Jecht. I don't understand it. I'm just afraid that he should have passed on, and it's only chance that keeps him from final rest—rest he deserves, if nothing else."

I remember running away, if my crawling could be called that. I remember shrinking into the shadows as chaos consumes the crystal labyrinth. I remember the Emperor blazing past me, wrath on his face and oblivious to my hidden eyes. And I remember Jecht and Golbez, and their kindness when they found me lying there. Kindness that I did not deserve.

I want to ease slowly into waking, to assure them that I'm fine. But then—

I snap to awareness. I am instantly awake, shoved by pure adrenaline into the world of the living. There is awful, oily fire on my skin.

"Don't touch me!!" I snarl as I bolt up. Golbez and Jecht kneel over me.

"Morning, sunshine," Jecht growls amiably. I flinch at his hand before it even makes it halfway across the air between us.

No. I explode.

Words are inadequate. They can never fully explain the coursing rush of the whitewater cascade that is a trance. Because it's all that one is: a surge of raw emotion manifested into the material world.

The richest desire to protect. The rolling boil of rage. The electric spark of fear.

"Jecht," Golbez calls out, calmly but firmly, to pull the grizzled man back. I barely hear it. I am panic refined and ignited. There are only my arms crossed over my face, protecting me, and the magic waiting to bleed.

And I suddenly stop. I am weak; I have no more energy to trance than I do to actually summon the magic in my fingertips. I slip out as quickly as I jolted in.

My vision cools; I exhale. "Please don't touch me," I whisper, looking up at the both of them.

Where is it? My hands fly to the pulse of my heart, just to check. Yes, it's there still, that thing I accidentally stole. Only 'stole' seems to be the wrong word, because it's apparently happier with me than it was anywhere else.

"What is your problem, boy?!" Jecht demands. "How do you think we got you here? We carried you! Actually, Golbez carried you," he added belatedly. "Are you that high on yourself? Well, if you are, you're going to have to suck it up. You don't have the energy to heal a moogle, much less yourself."

"Kuja, stop being difficult," Golbez breaks the silence, crossing his arms impatiently. "We just might have the entire host of Chaos' hand-picked finest on our tails—well, your tail. You need to let us heal you."

I reach up to my head and discover that my moonbeam silver hair is matted with dark, dark blood.

"I'm sorry," my voice quivers. "Thank you for letting me come with you." And I do mean it. I close my eyes and focus on my breath as Jecht tries again.

But when his fingertips brush the blood now dripping from my scalp—I must have reopened the wound when I panicked—I wince. And a tiny involuntary cry escapes from my throat.

It is nearly inaudible, and in its smallness even more pathetic. Because I cry out a single word: "no."

"Golbez, hold him," Jecht sighs in aggravation.

Golbez moves behind me and slips his arms under mine before I even understand to move. I seize up as Golbez locks me into his grip.

"Let me go!!"

"Kuja, be quiet, we're trying to help you, if you know what the word means," Golbez orders me. "I didn't know that you were capable of making such a fuss. Sometimes I can't believe that you're the older brother."

I don't quiet, and he shifts me so that he holds me down with one arm and clamps the other over my mouth.

I thrash in Golbez's grip to no avail. This isn't happening, this isn't happening. I can't believe this is happening. I don't feel Golbez, I don't see Jecht. I feel brittle gold and violet armor, I see a painted violet smile framed with long flaxen hair.

"Let me go, please, let me go," I cry over and over again into Golbez's glove, the entire time that Jecht's healing magic seeps into me. Because I resist it, he forces until it burns white fire, cauterizing my wounds closed.

Golbez releases me. My eyes sting from sobbing.

"What the hell was that for, Kuja," Jecht begins. I don't answer, I don't even look at them. I stagger to my feet and stumble about ten yards in the dirt before I trip and my knees buckle beneath me.

I press my hand to my heart. It's warm. Even as it stalks through my memories, it consoles me. It doesn't want to hurt me, it just can't help it. I forgive it easily, what else can I do? It's only acting on its nature. It has simple desires, like a child: understanding, acceptance, love. It doesn't want to do anything that might threaten my love.

It's all right, little thing. You could do nothing to make me hate you. It's not like before, you have nothing to fear from me now.

Golbez and Jecht flank me now, watch and wait as I gag on my breath.

They didn't mean to hurt me. I just assumed, against all evidence and reason.

I close my eyes. I want to sleep. Sleep forever dreamlessly and never wake up. But I can't. I can't rest, not for a while. Every moment I take to stop is a moment that this little thing inside of me flickers, dancing with the darkness.

"We have to go," I say steadily, looking off and realizing that I truly have no idea where I need to go.

"We have to find Cosmos. The Emperor knows that someone has the Crystal instead of him. He doesn't know who, but it will only be a matter of time before it gets out that he wasn't the one who killed Garland. Someone will put the pieces together."

"What? Kuja, you aren't making sense." Golbez, the voice of reason. I can tell he already knows what I mean, but he wants me to say it. And so I do.

"I have the Crystal. Right here," I say, pressing my hands over my chest. It glows a fraction warmer against my palm.

They are quiet.

"All right, I don't think we need a better excuse to get a move on," Jecht finally says, gathering his words together.

When Golbez picks me up without another word, I don't feel the memory of fire on my skin. They aren't trying to harm me. They only want to help.

"Excuse me, I can walk, thank you very much!!" I protest without any real anger behind it.

"No you can't, so stop being such a drama queen and shut it. Besides, Golbez, he's what, the weight of a baby chocobo?"

"I've never known even a baby chocobo to make this much noise. Right now, he's about as adorable as a ruffled tonberry."

"I am right here, I will have you know…"

What do you want, little Crystal? You're weakening and I don't know why. I can't help you if you don't speak to me and admit that you need help. If you try and fix yourself all by your lonesome efforts, you'll only fall apart. Let me help you.

Answer me. Tell me what you need so that I can take care of you. Stop being ridiculous. What are you trying to prove by keeping your pain inside of yourself?

What can you hope to accomplish by willingly settling yourself into isolation?

It flickers less now, when Golbez carries me, than when I try to walk on my own and fail. It likes the idea of the presence of friendship, care, love.

I have nothing to offer it.

A wilting heart shivers for want of a simple touch. In fear of freezing, it does not distinguish between a gentle fire and a stinging iron brand. Mistakes and hardships are, as such, practically invited. But who is to blame? Better to be burned by the fire than resign yourself to the ice.

I despise how hindsight is always right.

What do I want?

My desires are too simple to be articulated. They have been stripped bare of their complications; where I once wanted an empire, I now long for something so much smaller, but infinitely more valuable.

There are no words for what I want. There are sounds: a long sigh, a small laugh, the silence after the last tear falls. There are images: sparkle caught in the light of an iris, the heat of satin flush against a body's natural curves, and the kiss of night air, dark without the glow of the moon to poison its purity.

In a word, in paltry substitution that leaves the true sensation wanting still…

Life.

So what of life, then?

I saved Zidane as a child. It was purely out of hate, but I did still save him. The Crystal doesn't buy it, but waits with a patient half-smile. It knows I have something behind my back; it just has to guess which hand I'm hiding it in.

Once upon a time, little Crystal, there was a boy. A boy who lived in a cold heartless world and felt that something was missing, but didn't quite know what it was, because he had never known anything else. A boy who, not too long after he was born, saw what he was looking for—love, life—directed in a gaze towards another, but not him.

A boy who eventually grew into a man, and did some things that make him wonder if his own approval was the only approval that he needed all those years, after all. That even if he was working at Garland's destruction, if he didn't want Garland to acknowledge that he was doing a rather good job as an Angel of Death, too.

Once upon a time, a man didn't want to die, but committed suicide nonetheless. He woke up to sunlight, and realized that someone had saved him. But he had woken up alone. His rescuer had abandoned him in the desert, without so much as a single word of why.

But the world was kind to him. It provided oases for shelter when he needed water and shade and rest, and for one who had always been menaced by beasts, it gave to him peaceful solitude. Solitude that he grew to hate.

And I come upon the most stunning realization.

I'm going to die. But I'm happy. Happy to spend my last days with people who put up with me and care about me in spite of myself.

It's a nice feeling.


	29. Song Without Words

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. Sound good?

After that last chapter, it's easy to get the feeling that something's coming to an end. And… that's definitely the case. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Song Without Words

Sand kicks up. I wince my eyes shut. But I still breathe it in and taste the grit on my lips. These fragment worlds are falling apart. The nothingness that binds them is being consumed by itself, and I don't know why. It's as if Chaos is unleashed free without its master, and without someone to hold onto the leash, it's running away.

But somehow, I can feel the light of the Crystal, unbroken. I don't know where it is, but wherever it is, it feels like it wants to be really strong but it's being held back by something.

I'm moving as fast as I can, even though I have no idea where I'm going or where Kuja would even be, and to tell the truth, I'm just hoping that the Warrior of Light gets everything figured out and finds me as soon as possible.

All I know is that the powers that rule us, Cosmos and Chaos, are directly responsible for Garnet's death. And that Cosmos shouldn't have the Crystal, and that the Warrior of Light isn't telling me something. What isn't he telling me? It can't be that bad, but according to him, 'bad' doesn't even cover it since he didn't even want to share. But really, if it involves my brother, then what could be worse than him being the avatar of Chaos?

I can't think of anything.

The darkness congeals; it produces two forms. There are shades of a shadow, and it isn't until I look upon them that they take shape. My first instinct is to draw my blades, but that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. So I merely nod as the Cloud of Darkness and Exdeath approach me.

"Cecil?!" I stammer. The Cloud of Darkness and Exdeath aren't the only ones showed up. He stands between them, as if they are guarding him. He is wearing his darkened armor, but with his helmet removed. It's the very image of light and darkness together.

"Zidane, it's not what you think," he tells me first. He carries Tidus' sword at his side. "As soon as you told us to leave you alone with Kuja, I… I ran. I took Tidus' sword with me, although it did not make sense to me at the time. I thought I was seeking out the Warrior of Light, but as I moved, I knew that it was my brother and Tidus' father that I meant to find. The Cloud of Darkness and Exdeath chose to protect me after I left my brother's side. Zidane, I did not witness it, but Garland is dead."

"What?"

The Cloud of Darkness steps forward. "Yes. His life has ended."

I don't disguise the wariness in my eyes. "Cecil, it's not that I don't trust you. But what are you two doing, helping him?"

"We wish to know if you will help us, too," Exdeath answers me with gravity heavy in his voice. "Or if you will hurt us."

"I'm not helping you guys."

"But to help us is to help yourself, and your brother," the Cloud of Darkness smiles.

"I don't believe that my brother and the both of you are necessarily on the same side."

"Zidane, we're all on the same side here. I know it's hard to understand, but we can't speak freely. We're in a rather difficult position," Cecil interrupts.

"Cecil, give me a second here—" I begin, but then I give what he said a thought. "Wait. The Warrior of Light said that Garland couldn't speak freely either. What is going on here?"

The Cloud of Darkness nods. "Garland's restrictions would have been worse. And since you still seem to be puzzled, you should know that the others blessed by the darkness don't know. Their relationships with the darkness are so much more personal, so less pure… they cannot see what is happening for what it was. We—Exdeath and I—did not originally know, but it did not take us long to understand."

"So we aren't exactly on the same side. Hardly," Exdeath adds. "But it is a matter of putting aside personal differences for a grander goal. Cecil, we have seen you and the representative of your friend to as much safety as we feel safe ourselves. We must go—the Emperor is coming."

"Likely to try and recruit us," the Cloud of Darkness laughs. "He claims that he has the Crystal. What that means for your brother, Zidane, could be unfortunate."

Cecil steps away from them, but then looks back at them. "Are the both of you afraid of him?"

"He has gone beyond our bounds," the Cloud of Darkness tells him. "Like Ultimecia, he made a deal with powers beyond our realm. If all goes well, you will never have to know what we mean. We are leaving now to prepare for the worst. But hopefully, it will be you that we defeat in battle, not others," she adds, and both she and Exdeath fade into the swirling dust.

I spend a long time just staring at Cecil. "I can trust you, can't I?"

He gives me a blank look. "Zidane, have you been visited by the Warrior of Light by any chance? Do you… know what he speaks of?"

"I trust the Warrior of Light."

"Then I trust you. I'll trust whoever won't ask me to kill my brother," he says.

"Did Cosmos ask you to kill Golbez?!" I want to know. "But that's— well, you already know all about that," I add as I remember that my own little private fight with my brother isn't really private anymore.

"Yes. She asked Tidus to kill his father, as well. It seemed that she had no pity for those trapped in limbo between light and darkness. Which I found astonishing. No, I was speechless when she asked me. My brother died, after all, in defense of the light."

"Huh," I sigh, and think for a moment. I look up at him. "Did she give you a reason?"

"No. But the Cloud of Darkness told me something rather interesting that she did not tell you. Apparently, she saw Cosmos and Garland in conference more than once. Odd, I know," he says as I pull the most exhausted, confused face I think anyone has ever seen.

"What is so huge that the Cloud of Darkness and Exdeath helped us, but that the Emperor doesn't feel any qualms about taking a bite from it? And why, why isn't anyone _speaking?_" I add, suddenly more ticked off than I can imagine. "What or who are they afraid of?"

"Zidane, perhaps it's a matter of—Zidane!!"

Two things happen right then and there. I notice the glowing magical array unfurling underneath my feet like ghostly calligraphy, and Cecil shoves me.

I look over my shoulder; he made it too. But on the ground isn't the best place I could be when I meet the Emperor face to face.


	30. La Stravaganza

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that's not mine.

Sorry for not updating sooner! I was without my computer all weekend. Please enjoy and review!

La Stravaganza

The Emperor's smile alone is enough to make me shudder. But I don't move, because his eyes are like a cobra's, and I can't move. And when he sees me, his smile only grows. I watch, burned into paralysis, as he nudges Cecil aside with his boot and stands over me.

His gaze sinks, and it's like he's taking apart every inch of my appearance. He creeps me out. "Man, no wonder Kuja sided with the Warrior of Light instead of you," I say instead of 'hello.'

Infuriated fire catches in his eyes.

"Agh!" I cry out and flinch away, and my heart skips a beat. I force my eyes back open. I look to my outstretched hand as he removes the barbed edge of his staff.

I don't believe it. I just watch the hole in my palm bleed for a moment before I think to clutch it to my chest. As I pull my left hand close, I glare up at him. "I thought my manners were bad," I snarl.

I want to stand, but he's too close. He towers over me, and the self-satisfied smirk in his eyes makes Kuja look downright humble.

"Get away from him!" Cecil yells as he rises up and attacks, going straight for the backs of the Emperor's knees in one quicksilver instant.

I scramble to my feet and fall back, one dagger drawn as I desperately try to ignore the throbbing pain in my other hand. My blood stains the sands.

Cecil throws him off balance, which is enough for me. I leap forward and tackle him just as Cecil dodges out of the way. "Don't move, you snotty bastard," I hiss through my clenched teeth with one dagger pressed against his throat.

That was easier than I thought it would be. Something's not right. But as he looks up at me, I know he's got something he's just dying to share, something that refuses to wipe that smug look off his face even now that he's not going to be attacking anybody.

"What do you want with us?" Cecil demands as he lets Tidus' blade sit on the armor just above the Emperor's heart.

"You think I have a heart for you to threaten?" he says, his voice coated with oil. "And what makes you think that I want to do anything more complicated than kill you?"

"Because you're not even sweating," Cecil answers coolly.

The Emperor gazes up at Cecil for an appraising moment. "Do you know how much I adore silver hair, Cecil Harvey?" he softly comments.

Cecil's only reaction is a disgusted frown.

"Of course, Zidane, you know exactly what I'm talking about," he adds and looks up at me. "But you do have the same face. Not the same eyes, which is disappointing."

Above me, Cecil makes an impatient sound. "If you're trying to distract us, it's not working. What deal did you make with higher powers? What are those higher powers, anyways?"

"You talk to me as if I'm going to answer."

"We hold your life in our hands, in case you didn't notice," Cecil informs him, anger rising. "And don't think that we're too noble to actually make good on the situation if you're not cooperative. The world is falling apart, and we don't know what's going on. If you do, then answer us!"

"Golbez's little brother is such a brave young man," the Emperor chuckles. "But what makes you think that I'm not distracting you? Don't you have something to do, Zidane…?"

I grimace. "What are you talking about?"

He sighs in mocking exaggeration of patience. "Dearest Zidane Tribal and Cecil Harvey. It took both the Warrior of Light and Kuja, with a summon and advanced holy magic, just to weaken me for a moment. And that was… before. Do you really think your little toy swords are keeping me here now?"

We don't say anything.

"Cecil, if I answer your question honestly and name that higher power I've been dealing with as Cosmos herself, and I tell you, Zidane, that your brother was quite lovely and that I don't have the Crystal like I've been telling others, do you think you can comprehend how absolutely stricken you're going to be as soon as you understand the implications of our little skirmish…?"

"Hell," I whisper, and I automatically sink back, heavy with realization. He's been distracting us--me--this whole time.

"Is overrated," the Emperor laughs as he pushes himself forward and throws me off. Magic accents the shove, and I fly backwards a good ten feet.

I don't have time for this. Without saying a word, Cecil somehow understands what I would never actually ask of him out loud.

"Go, Zidane," he tells me without looking at me. He stands in between the Emperor and myself.

"How adorable," the Emperor purrs.

"Cecil, I owe you one!" I shout over my shoulder, and sprint off. I don't know where I'm going, but in the back of my head, I feel a tug on my sense of the Light. Before, the Crystal was just a dull sensation of presence, but now I feel a direction along with its glow. It's desperate. As I run, I try to stop the bleeding with my paltry white magic.

The Emperor is working either for or with Cosmos, and the entire purpose behind that little fight was to distract me so that when I finally felt the Crystal's pull, it would be too late. Am I too late now?

The sands kicking up around me remind me darkly of the desert around the Iifa Tree.

As I run, I can't help but think about our conversation with the Emperor. Was he just talking trash, trying to weird us out like that when he talked about Cecil's silver hair and my eyes? Or was there something behind that?

Either way, I'm pissed off.

Time is meaningless to me now. I run so hard that my breath catches in my lungs, but I keep going past the pain. Just one more thing to distract me. But as I run, the Crystal's beacon starts to grow and weaken like a heartbeat. When it sinks into the darkness for that precarious second, I feel a stab of pain in my heart. It feels like the Crystal is trying to tread water, but is losing strength and is sinking, drowning.

The sands cast an unholy curtain over the air, and it's only when I feel something crack under my feet that I realize the Crystal's beacon has brought me to Cosmos' still, deathly ice field.

At that time, the sands part and settle around Cosmos' throne. I stop maybe fifty feet back, and the Crystal beacon flares one last time as I see Tidus' father and Cecil's older brother. Standing over the throne, Cosmos holds Kuja's hands in hers. His eyes are shut, his face is an empty, peaceful mask.

"Kuja!" I cry out.

He winces at the sound of his name, and looks up at me. Without even a word, he simply returns his gaze to Cosmos. And she smiles.


	31. Dance of the Blessed Spirits

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, or claiming anything, that's not mine.

Thanks for reviewing so far, everyone! I know it's been pretty strange at times, so thanks for chatting with me. Please enjoy!

Chapter Thirty: Dance of the Blessed Spirits

Ice freezes up my throat. But it's only for a moment: I'm dragged to my knees by some invisible force that tugs at me, like it's trying to erase me as if I were nothing more than a drawing on paper.

"Kuja! Wait, listen to me! Get away from her!"

He does wait. He does look up. But Cosmos speaks first, in that soft, alluring and pure voice that commands audience from everyone it reaches. Its innocence is its seduction, and I never realized that before now.

"Listen to me. Kuja, he no longer wishes to make amends with you," Cosmos says demurely. "He is asking you to die. Aren't you, Zidane?"

That erasing tugs at me. And suddenly, I'm standing in her place. I don't understand. Words tumble out of my mouth that aren't mine, words that could never, ever be mine. But they echo like the time I lied to him.

"Kuja, I tried to help you," the words say through me. "But you just laughed in the face of the Light. The best thing you can do now is give Cosmos the Crystal and go away forever—"

Kuja has the Crystal? Wait, wait— those words aren't mine. What's going on here?

I expect him to get angry. But he doesn't do anything. He doesn't frown, he doesn't scowl, he doesn't toss my words back, turned in prettier on themselves.

He just looks at me.

"Do you really mean that?"

It doesn't come out quite right when he says the words; they're staggered, choked. What's wrong with him? Why doesn't he lash out? Why doesn't he fight back?

A diamond traces a wet line from his eyes. Then another, and another, until his face glitters like the night sky.

"Kuja?" I whisper as I'm released from the spell.

He closes his eyes and sighs. "Here," he says to me then. His hands cup together above his chest, around his heart. "You've wanted it for so long. It's yours…"

I'm bathed in the glorious, furiously flickering light of the Crystal. It is beautiful. But not so beautiful that I don't cry out as his knees buckle underneath him. He pitches forward into my arms; I drop my daggers easily as my hands open to catch him. I wait there a moment, just holding him: the shock of his tears, the shock of seeing the Crystal's light, the shock of everything keeps me in my mind.

Cosmos spoke through me. She used me like her puppet. Before anyone moves, I make sure that the Crystal is firmly in my grip where no one else can get it. In the corner of my eyes, I see Cosmos sink into herself. I know that whatever she did, it used up all the strength she had left.

But then I notice that there's something not quite right. Kuja's skin is a little cold; I sneak my arms under his jacket to warm him now that the Crystal's left him. My fingers spread over his skin on their own. They know to search for that telltale pulse before I do, because I don't think about any of that.

Then I feel it. Or rather, I don't.

"Kuja…?" I whisper. My fingertips should be rising and falling with his breath, but they aren't. My heartbeat should be beating off-synch with his, but it isn't; it's alone.

My breath all but comes to a stop in my throat. "Kuja?!"

"I didn't mean it!" I stammer, pulling back. "Kuja, I didn't mean it! That wasn't me! Open your eyes, dammit! You'd better not be doing this to me!"

His eyes don't open, his body doesn't even support itself. His skin is as cold as a corpse.

"I didn't mean it..."

My words fall on dead ears, and a gilded white hand falls on my shoulder. Cosmos. "Zidane, it's not like you haven't thought those words before. Didn't you even voice them aloud once, to Bartz? Don't you remember?"

"I didn't mean it then, either," I growl.

"The Crystal, Zidane," she whispers in her hollowed-out voice.

"Over my dead body," I breathe. I'm still holding him, for goodness' sake. I'm still having trouble thinking of him in the past tense. I'm staring Jecht and Golbez in the face. They are not happy.

Something is wrong.

"What was Kuja doing with the Crystal?" I demand, my voice suddenly hoarse and scorched.

"You know this already," Cosmos whispers to me softly. I shake my head.

"Not you. Jecht, Golbez. You answer me: why did Kuja have the Crystal?"

"What's it to you," Jecht growls. "He's dead. He didn't come here expecting to make it out afterwards. We didn't come here expecting him to make it out afterwards, either. He had his reason, and it was a damn good one. So Miss Cosmos, you'd better take the Crystal like he wanted, and get on with business. We've got a war to stop."

"It matters!" I shout, maybe ten times louder than I meant it in my head. Ten times angrier. "Did Kuja get the Crystal from Garland?"

"Yes," Golbez answered quietly.

"Did Kuja kill Garland for it?" I ask. I need to know. From them.

Golbez shakes his head. "No. Not intentionally. During their conversation, Kuja finally let go of his hatred for Garland. The Crystal reacted with Kuja's heart and Garland died from the subsequent exposure to the light of Cosmos."

My eyes narrow. "The light of Cosmos…?" I repeat. "That sure sounds like the avatar-in-waiting of Chaos, doesn't it?" I mutter out loud, and close my eyes for a moment.

I let him go. I gently place his corpse on the ground, on his side as if he were sleeping like that day I tried to drive him insane. I didn't think I would succeed. I'm heavy as a rock, but I get myself to my feet somehow.

"Avatar-in-waiting of Chaos," Jecht echoes skeptically. He had heard me. "Where did you get that?"

"Why don't you tell me," I reply. I turn around and stare at Cosmos. I pause. My emotions are raw; my thoughts frayed.

"I've been thinking. About what you said, what with my world being the 'final fantasy' or whatever. Some of what you said doesn't make sense. Care to explain it again?"

"I will not be threatened by you," Cosmos responds delicately. No, not delicately. I've heard that tone before, typically from Kuja looking down his nose at everyone and everything.

"Is that a bit of superiority I hear in your voice? Because that's not very becoming of a lady. Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"My own warrior of light would use such harsh words with me?" she dares to say.

"…yeah. Unless you just want me to decide everything for myself. According to my brother, I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer. I might get some things wrong. So why don't you tell me what's really going on, so I don't come to any incorrect conclusions?"

"You're right," Cosmos says, as if she's giving something up and she's sad. "I lied," she begins. "We—the Origin World knew why your world connected back. Because the path of destiny, continuing on its way, had irrevocably wandered down the path of total Chaos. In other words, your world was the most successful. Too successful. The influx of Chaos was too great for the Origin World to handle, and the excess returned to your dream world by way of the window through which you traveled to Memoria, and to the very heart of the Origin World, the Crystal World."

"At that point, we lost control, which was entirely unacceptable. Never before had one of our fantasies crossed over, and never before had anyone threatened the Crystal itself."

"Kuja…" I whispered.

"Your brother emancipated all nine of our creations from our control when he challenged the Crystal. We no longer had any direct sway over their destinies. Additionally, this fluctuation in destiny created an after-image, a dream of a dream—the tenth fantasy. Yours, Jecht," she says, looking up.

It's quiet as death.

"You could have lied to me again," I tell Cosmos. "You should have. What am I supposed to do now? What are we supposed to do? What's this whole fight with Chaos, then, if we're in control of our own destinies? Don't touch him!"

But she does. She kneels by Kuja's side, takes his torso in her arms and gathers him close like a lost child, found too late. "Your brother once said that peace is but a shadow of death. It's unfortunate that he was right. I never intended for the light or your fellow warriors to win, Zidane. Your fantasy worlds have achieved so much independence that they have even elected their own candidates for Cosmos and Chaos…"

She is the first to look up, the first to see the Warrior of Light.


	32. Scheherazade

Disclaimer: I don't own or claim anything that's not mine.

This chapter marks the end of the first part. I know some of you mentioned that you felt the end coming, well… it is an end, of sorts, but definitely not 'the end'. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Thirty-One: Scheherazade

When I turn around, the first thing I see is the paralyzed look in the Warrior of Light's eyes.

"I'm too late," he whispers. Then anger flashes like fire across his eyes. "I knew I wasn't wrong. And now there's my proof in your arms, you who tell us your name is Cosmos. There is blood on your hands, and neither posturing nor pretended naivete can wash the blood from your white robes. Blood never washes out."

"Warrior of Light, what are you talking about?" I want to know.

He draws his sword. "Zidane, stay away from that white witch," he warns me. "She is not even a traitor; she was never on our side in the first place. From the beginning, it was her intent for our worlds to fall into Chaos' eternal abyss. It was she who doomed us to die!"

"Warrior of Light, you have been corrupted by the darkness of Chaos—" she insists, but apparently the respect he once had for her is long gone.

"Chaos is a construct of your world, woman! And while it maintains independent thought, it never once gained autonomy from your world's desires. I talked to your chimera, Garland, before he died. He was so certain that you had succeeded, he was free to tell me every single facet of your schemes. I think you know what he told me," he says warningly.

She pales, and stands, finally leaving Kuja's corpse alone. But his body still rests at her feet.

"He said you're not even anyone of importance from the Origin World, just a blond witch clad in white who works her magic like an artist, drawing reality and memories to how she sees fit."

Whatever she must have been expecting, that isn't it. She chuckles and asks through her quiet laughter, "how did you come to that conclusion?" After she speaks, she covers her mouth with her hand to keep us from seeing her smile.

"He called you a 'nobody', and I'm inclined to believe him, such was the earnest relief in his voice," the Warrior of Light suspiciously responds. He looks at her now like he's evaluating an enemy. That's about when I notice that Jecht and Golbez aren't just standing there: they're on guard, unwilling to attack her, but at the same time not stupid enough to just sit there in case things turn ugly.

"There is so much that you don't know about the Origin World," she shakes her head. "You can't understand the significance of Garland's rebellious mutterings. No one without knowledge of the Origin World could."

My head battles to catch up. It seems that everything I've clung to as truth is beginning to crumble in my arms, but I'm sinking under the waves and there is no land in sight. I'm drowning.

She clears her throat. "Call it selfish, but the Origin World cannot survive if your worlds remain intact. We even attempted to create two new worlds based on the first nine—and the tenth that was not of our creation. They were missing something… a certain spark. They were rejected. Without control over your fantasy worlds, I have no choice but to terminate them from the inside out. Only then can the Origin World start anew."

And she pauses. Something glitters behind her eyes.

"But… now I see that I was wrong. It does not adequately address the wrongs my world has inflicted upon you, but now I understand that you are not dreams to be played with, but genuine people as real as the residents of my world. I can offer you all a new home. A home in the Origin World—"

"Lies," The Warrior of Light seethes. "You orchestrated the corruption and death of our true Cosmos from the beginning!! Garland told me everything…"

'Your fantasy worlds have achieved so much independence that they have even elected their own candidates for Cosmos and Chaos', she had said. Our worlds had created their own deities of order and discord so that they could have a chance to fight against the will of their creator. Just like someone else I know who didn't want to go down without throwing a few punches.

I look at Kuja's corpse. 'You orchestrated the corruption and death of the real Cosmos from the beginning'…

"You poisoned Zidane's heart with your lies and his love's perfect murder," The Warrior of Light accuses. "You ordered Chaos to take the avatar of Cosmos even though he did not belong, and you made sure that he would wake with the most corrupt of Chaos' followers. But that didn't work, so you ordered Garland to break him. And you succeeded. Cosmos is dead. You must feel rather accomplished."

The avatar of… Cosmos?

Cosmos?

I don't know where my mind goes. I see Kuja, dead. I see his face, panicked as I try to convince him that he's insane. I see Garnet, lovely, lovely Garnet, and now I hate myself for instantly hating him, for just assuming, for retreating into a world of black and white because that made the pain so much easier to deal with.

I remember how I wondered back then if Kuja would Trance just from the raw emotion coursing through his veins. Then I feel fire along my skin, and I have more control than ever before. So I'll be responsible for what happens. I'm okay with that.

Without the Crystal, the woman we mistakenly called Cosmos is nothing more than human. A human, or something like it, who played god and decided to get rid of her creations when things weren't going her way. This won't end with her, not with a whole world backing her up, but this is a start.

Because in the end, Kuja and I are the same person. We choose to protect what's ours first, even if it means total annihilation of what threatens us. If the Crystal chose Kuja, then it's time for power to change hands.

The Warrior of Light looks to me, like he knows what's going to happen. Jecht and Golbez, followers of Chaos as they were, are less willing to do what we must than we defenders of light are.

"I'm sorry, if it means anything," the woman called Cosmos says with strength behind her voice. "I wouldn't have done anything differently, but the same reason that you are rebelling now is a cousin of the reason that I did all of this in the first place. I won't fight you," she says directly to me. "So you can put all that energy away. Save it for later."

The piercing softness of her blue eyes does calm me, somehow. I look at her, and suddenly I see someone much younger: a girl maybe the same age as me, not wearing anything gold or fancy or anything, just a scrappy-looking girl with a wry smile.

"I've just figured it out, you know," she says plainly. Her faded, goddess speech is gone now. "There's nothing to be done about any of you here, not now. I'll go now—I want to see him again."

Jecht frowns. "When you say that, you mean…"

"I can't die if I'm never truly alive," she says with a smile. "You'd get it if you came from the Origin World."

"Do you… have a name…?" the Warrior of Light says faintly. He lets down his guard.

"Kind of," she answers. "But not really. One more thing, Zidane, that Crystal will revive your brother. The curse that Garland engineered into his blood had killed him, but the Crystal will keep him alive as long as it's in his possession."

With a sigh, she kneels on the ground. Not on the throne. "Here, I'll hold him."

I kneel next to her with the Crystal in one hand and uncertainty in the other. I hold it over his heart.

"Just like that," she whispers, her voice encouraging. That's when Golbez's hand falls on my shoulder.

The Warrior of Light looks at him questioningly, and Jecht asks, "what's going on?"

"This woman just killed our elected god of light and order. What does she, or the Origin World, have to gain from reviving the one who would help us achieve our goals, considering that our goals are apparently opposed to the goals of the Origin World?" he says roughly. But it's too late: the Crystal, eager to return to the one it chose, dissolves into light.

I am such an idiot. We're all idiots. We have every reason to kill her here and now. But no. We wanted everything to be right again; we wanted everything to return to the way it was, when Cosmos was our goddess and reason and our source of guidance, and Chaos was something horned and demonic that we could brandish our swords at. So we waited for the first glimmer of a chance to seize at that fantasy. I'm all for giving people a chance, after all. In those five seconds of forgiveness, we just hammered the nails on our own coffins.

"Zidane…?" Kuja whispers. I only see that unguarded, waking expression of his for a moment before the white witch from the Origin World presses her palm to his forehead. A bloom of palest white, and everything just disappears. It's all gone. We're standing in a vast expanse of white nothing.

"What'd you do to him," Jecht says threateningly. "Where is this place?"

She doesn't laugh, but she looks like she wants to. "Sorry. I may understand how all of you feel. Believe me, I empathize with all of you. But I love the Origin World too much to let it fall, even if I only experienced life there for a short amount of time."

Slowly, too slowly, Kuja's eyes close again. No. He can't be dead again. No way that he was alive for just a breath before being taken away once more.

The white witch stands up in this vast plane of absence. "You all, warriors of light and darkness alike, will be scattered to the corners of the Origin World, where you will die and your worlds will die with your memories."

The energy I subdued earlier refuses to listen to me now. "What did you do to him?!" I demand, fire searing my throat. "What did you do to Kuja? Answer me! Answer us, all of us!!"

"Everything I've put him through to break him, his heart's a wreck," she sighs. "I just put him to sleep so that he can sort things out. Don't worry, I'm an expert, I've done this before. You can wake him up right now, if you want. If you do before the right time, he won't even know his own name. He'll be a blank slate. Of course, he'll no longer be the Crystal's elected one, but…"

I'm having difficulty keeping the electricity down. "I don't want him to be a blank slate," I mutter through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure?" she asks, and cocks her head at me curiously. "Are you sure you wouldn't like him better without? It would be much easier to shape him into that reformed older brother you always wanted in your mind—"

"No!!" I yell.

That's all I remember of the one I used to believe in. Except for the rage that must have fueled my trance, must have killed her. Something more reasonable inside of me fights the primal urge to attack everything, and I pray that my magic doesn't strike the Warrior of Light, Jecht or Golbez. They were there for Kuja when I couldn't be.

We'll take our chances in the Origin World. We'll find a way to reunite with the others, scattered or not. We'll find a way to wake up Kuja, and if it's true that he's our Cosmos, our beacon of light, then I want to see the face he makes when we tell him just for what exactly the Crystal chose him, and chose us. We'll survive.


	33. From the New World

Disclaimer: I don't claim characters or copyrighted products that aren't mine. I do claim any concepts, plot, etc. that are.

I guess I don't need to state that I'm back, but I am. Many thanks to mamaesme who lent me the series that gave me a clue about how to keep two brothers together despite chaos, instead of letting chaos tear them apart.

Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Thirty-Two: From the New World

I wake up with a hangover like nobody's business, and when I realize that it's night, I wonder if whatever I did before I passed out—because I don't remember even the slightest bit—must have been so bad that I slept through an entire day to recover.

I see the flicker of bright candy-colored lights as well as reliable gold, and the warm earthy and midnight blue palette of a back alleyway of some city in Gaia. Treno? Sure, if I'm this bad off, it must've been Treno. At least I didn't gamble my clothes away while I was drunk. And no one stole my weapons while I was asleep—surprising, since they're worth quite a bit.

If anything, someone found me in my drunken stupor and propped me up against the brick wall so that I wouldn't choke myself if I retched. How considerate. But if I had so much to drink, then why can't I taste it on my breath? And who let me drink that much in the first place? Some buddies my friends are.

Right about then, I realize that the brick wall's not the only thing keeping me up. I'm leaning on someone more than I'm leaning on something, and I can hear his breath—slow, still asleep.

"Kuja, we have got to be more responsible when we drink. I mean, I know I'm bad, but I seriously had higher expectations for you. Aren't mages not allowed to drink anyways?" I tell him. "Wouldn't you torch the tavern?"

Wait a second, here. This place, wherever it is, is quiet like death. I don't see anyone passing by our little back alley, either. I don't smell food, or wine, or even sewage. A little bit of smoke in the air, but that doesn't mean much.

Also, since when were Kuja and I drinking buddies? He didn't wake up through my half-insane speech, and good thing too. He probably would have smacked me or something.

"All right, Kuja, get up," I say and shake his shoulder. "I don't think we were drinking, I think we were magicked. This place is giving me the creeps… Kuja, seriously, wake up. I'm not your governess."

Where are we? How did we get here? Where _is_ here?

_Shh. You don't want to wake him up right now. If you do, you'll kill the one you're working so hard to save. _

"Who was that?" I snap, just about the time it settles in that Kuja doesn't even seem to hear me. "What are you talking about? I did save him! How could we both be in some weird district of Treno unless I saved him?"

No answer. I hate people who like to answer me with silence, by the way. Kuja, at least, always had some half-cracked taunt or something to throw at me. But he's not exactly talkative right now.

"Fine, I guess I'm carrying you," I mutter under my breath. "Not like I haven't done it before—" I overcompensate, expecting to feel the weight of his much taller frame, but he's surprisingly light. Light in more than one sense of the word.

"What in hell," I whisper. It's not that he's physically lighter, it's like there's some brightness glowing from him that makes me stronger. And just to make things extra-weird, as I'm standing there, freaking out, he murmurs something in his sleep and moves, actually moves, and wraps his arms around my neck and rests his head on my shoulder.

"Okay, that's not cute," I mutter. "Let's go."

Disembodied voices and scarily empty town squares don't make me feel particularly excited to walk around. "Hey!!" I shout out. "Is anyone here?"

All I get are echoes. I don't see any signs that something bad might have happened here: everything is normal. Except for the whole deserted thing. But there's a tavern to my right, and if there's anywhere you can find people, no matter what, it's a tavern.

It's an odd one: it's open like a patio, but the night air flows in all the way to the bar. Come to think of it, things aren't picture-perfect: here and there a chair lies on its back, feet clawing the air. It's not until I get to the bar that I begin to seriously panic.

Above the bar, there's a bunch of framed pictures, just like you would expect at any halfway-friendly place. But I don't know where I am. I'm not supposed to recognize the people in the frames. And these aren't just paintings, it's like someone captured them in an instant with a flash of light and memory. They're real.

One's Ruby from Tantalus. She looks like she was the bartender here, but I know Ruby when I see her. And I recognize two other faces. A sullen-looking guy with spiky blond hair, and a dark-haired man wearing a leather jacket and a silver chain. But his hair's all wrong, and he looks older somehow. I don't know how I know that.

I don't even know their names.

That's a lie. Cloud and Squall. Where did that come from?

And those aren't Cloud and Squall at all. Not the Cloud and Squall that I know. Other names come to me, other faces. Names and faces that I shouldn't know, and stories behind their names that I couldn't possibly make up.

I remember. A hurricane sweeps my mind and shatters the foundation, leaving me shaking.

I'm in the Origin World. We are, we all are. Somewhere. But I don't even know where I am, much less where I can even begin to find the others.

Suddenly, I feel something weird at my back, and I turn around. I see the eyes.

The tavern is surrounded by a writhing mass of dark claws and shadows, all lit up with hollow and hungry yellow eyes that don't come any closer to me than ten yards or so but really, really want to do so.

"It's okay, Kuja, I'm not going to let anything happen to you," I murmur, even as I can't take my eyes off the horde. "Why aren't they coming any closer?"

I shouldn't have said that. As soon as those words passed from my lips, I swear that they hear the doubt in my heart and decide to go for it. A single little twitching wraith pokes its head out and jolts itself forward. It flinches, and steps back. But that doesn't stop them. Of course not.

For every one that doesn't want to risk moving forward, there are at least ten who do. What do I do now?

Kuja mutters something in his sleep. It sounds like my name. Then he opens his eyes.

He can't wake up. If he wakes up now, then it's over. I've fought for nothing.

"No," I breathe. "No! Go back to sleep—"

Expressionless, he slightly tilts his head so that he sees the monsters. And then a flash of light fills my vision, and when the spots stop dancing around, they're gone. All of them.

What just happened?

"…Kuja?" I whisper, and hurriedly sink to my knees and set him down. I watch him as he looks up at me, but there's something glassy in his half-lidded gaze that makes me wonder if he's really awake after all.

A weary smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, and he closes his eyes and leans his head on my arm. A second passes, and it's like nothing ever happened. But did nothing happen? Is he okay? I didn't break the rules or anything, did I?

Maybe he's just dreaming. Yeah, that's it. Maybe he's okay. Because if he had woken up for real, then he would be asking some very weird and hard-to-answer questions right now, like 'who am I?'

That was close. But that light that purged the monsters was his, wasn't it? And because I was in danger. Or because he was in danger. But no, he had said my name…

He died—went to sleep, I remind myself, not 'died'—thinking I hated him, and he still saved my life.

He did die. I did let him die. No, I killed him myself.

I can't think like this anymore. It's not helping anyone.

"Come on, Kuja, let's see if we can't find someone we know, or better yet, someone who won't kill us on sight. Let's get out of here," I sigh as I shoulder him again. I didn't even hear the footsteps, I swear.

"You're not going anywhere."

It's the eyes that make it hard to tell the age of the silver-haired man in front of me. They're icy blue, and they look like they've seen centuries. He carries an ugly-looking blade, the edge dipped in some black kind of metal forged to look like a demon's body, all folded up with the wings and spikes sticking out.

"Hand over the Crystal. Now," he demands. His voice gives him away. He sounds too young for it to make sense.

"What kind of welcome is that?" I ask with a half-crazed laugh. The young man in black—the warrior wrapped in darkness—is not amused. It doesn't make me feel better when I realize that the guy looks like he could be the Warrior of Light's brother.

"You don't get a welcome. Maybe a thank-you, if you do as I ask."

"I can't do that," I tell him. "You don't understand what's going on here."

He glares at me. "If you're keeping the Crystal from me, then neither do you."


	34. Resurrection Symphony

Disclaimer: I don't claim characters or copyrighted products that aren't mine. I do claim any concepts, plot, etc. that are.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Resurrection Symphony

_Peace is but a shadow of death, destined to forget its path… although we hope for promising years. After shedding a thousand tears, yesterday's sorrow constantly nears. _

I fold up the torn-off sheet of note paper, and grudgingly slip in back into my sleeve. I hate that stupid poem and the depressing person who composed it, whoever he was. I hate that it's the only scrap I have left of my home, of all things, and I hate that it came true. I hate that Chaos came back and tore my home to shreds just like it always wanted, and took the lives of my home's bravest heroes along with it.

Leaving me. If I had been brave, then I would have been taken with them. The satisfaction of self-preservation doesn't nearly compare to the guilt growling low inside of me.

Or maybe that's just hunger. Because today is a special day. It's the first time I have ever visited the king's castle. It's also the first day that I have ever spent in jail. Since when is it a crime to want to find my little brother?

It seems like it was only yesterday that the King, the Master, and the Warrior of Darkness decided to allow the creation of the Crystal. And what good did it do us?

My cell is dank and quiet. It's quiet because I've been here quite some time and no one has come down to see if I have regained consciousness. Just in case I missed something interesting, I stare at the dirt floor. I have a pool of stagnant and probably disease-carrying water to keep me company. Charming.

Bored, I lean over and stare into it. I want to see if I have a black eye.

Black hair, once tamed into a braid, now tugged loose and falling over a white-robed shoulder. Glacier eyes that make me wonder why I'm not blind. One of them is swelling from a bitter left hook. At least I'll have some color on my complexion, even if blue and violet weren't exactly the tan I had in mind.

As I delicately test my black eye by poking it, I wish that I knew magic.

The king's soldiers, made ruthless by necessity. Once upon a time, they were gentle and bumbling first, stalwart and competent second, and heartless and efficient never. But that terminology isn't very politically correct nowadays, unless referring to the actual… well, need I say more? 'Chaos' is the preferred word, since the king decreed that 'darkness' is unfair to those who simply like it in the shade. We needed a better word for the malevolent force that wished to undo the light.

Panic has torn apart the world in the places that Chaos left untouched. Which might explain why the soldiers attacked me first. I have never fought anyone in my life, not even my brother. When the Chaos came, I always ran. That's how I lost him—he stood and fought, and by the time I realized I was alone, it was too late to turn. I didn't stand a chance against them.

What has happened to my world? The return of Chaos, yes. But the threat of an enemy cannot change the heart of a king: that must be done from the inside.

Footsteps, heavy ones. I don't know whether to be relieved or on guard. They come with gruff voices.

"His story doesn't clear. There are no records of a 'Nuage' ever living there. The brother he talked about isn't mentioned either."

"Doesn't mean anything for sure, knowing that place."

I see the guard who says that last line, and watch him warily as he shuffles up to the door of my cell with the key on a heavy-linked chain. Meanwhile, the other one—he doesn't wear all of his armor, likely because he's too rotund to fit comfortably— stimulates the awkward silence with some casual conversation.

"Nuage, they said you called yourself?" he wants to know.

"I can't account for what they said, but you somehow managed to come across the correct information," I say slowly. "Good job. I'm privileged to be in the hands of the king's best."

He just laughs. "You're a smart-ass now, you just wait. You think the king has time to listen to your story?"

I flinch. An audience with the king—custom for those imprisoned without reason—was what I had been banking on to free me. A few minutes would have been more than enough to convince him that this is all a mistake. That this is because of some zealous new guard captain who just had the kingdom's best interests in mind.

I didn't actually want any of my paranoid thoughts about Chaos and the kingdom to be true. They were just a way to pass the time, a possibility to keep me company while I sulked and felt sorry for myself.

"But—" I begin to protest as the cell door opens and the lankier guard, without even asking, grabs my hands and jerks them up to his level and snaps binding bracelets on them. More subtle than handcuffs or chains, they fulfill the same purpose. The moogle who first synthesized them must have been having a bad day.

"Let's get going," he growls, and pulls me up by my sleeves and shoves me out of the cell. He could have simply asked me; did he think I actually liked it in there?

"You don't need to push. As much as I adore our conversation, I'm ready to get out of here," I tell them as they flank me. "You can't keep me here without a reason. It's against the law."

"Oh, you're here for a reason," the lankier one assures me as we walk. My legs are stiff from spending so much time in that cell; the last thing I want to do is climb all these stairs to the audience chamber.

"Then what is it?" I demand. The rotund one opens the door in front of me and I close my eyes at the rushing pain of seeing so much light after the hours spent in darkness. The throne room of the king's castle is crafted purely from white.

The lankier one pushes me along. "I think you know," he says vaguely. "And that law you evoked only applies to the king's subjects, not your kind."

"My kind?!" I stammer. "What in the name of the Master are you talking about? I _am_ one of the king's subjects. I grew up in the Garden, for goodness' sake!"

"Oh, that's cute, one of you evoking the name of the Master. Simmer down; you're in the presence of the king's advisor. He'll be hearing your plea in the king's absence, and you should be grateful that we're doing even that much for you."

Who was the king's advisor? I couldn't exactly recall, but I suddenly breathed an internal sigh of relief. Was it the waterfowl mage or the canine knight? Either way, they would set things right. They had accompanied the Master, after all.

This was all going to turn out perfectly. A few words of clarification, an apology, and perhaps even a word of admonition directed at the guards, and I would be once more on my way to finding my little brother. Maybe they even knew of some lead that I didn't. Maybe they would help.

Wait, did I want the help of the people who had mistakenly arrested me? No. They would bungle things terribly.

When I am brought before the throne, that sigh of relief wraps around my throat and asphyxiates me. I do not recognize the person staring coldly back at me. What more, I'm somewhat less than comforted by the peculiar way his gaze pierces mine.

Maybe it's because I couldn't have picked a man who looked less like he could possibly be my king's advisor, but all those thoughts about something poisoning the king from the inside, all those half-serious thoughts that maybe there isn't some misunderstanding going on after all, they all slam into my head at once.

He smiles. It's an expression I don't want to see him repeat. But just when he is about to speak, the shallow drum roll of hurried feet steals his attention.

"Milord, in the king's absence, I am instructed to report directly to you," stated the messenger who bowed a little too low for the tastes of the court. The king's absence? "The Warrior of Darkness has possibly located the Crystal."

"I couldn't have asked for better news," the king's advisor says with sickly-sweet thanks. His voice makes something between my shoulders blades tense up. I wonder if he has that effect on everyone.

The Warrior of Darkness bit made sense to me. Despite his name, he often aided the king whenever he could. But what was the Crystal doing missing in the first place? I look up as the king's advisor dismisses the messenger and returns his focus to me.

"Do you know who I am?" he asks me poisonously. I wonder what I ever did to him.

"No," I answer blankly, and shrug. I have nothing to hide. Comparatively, I'm nobody, which is something that I would like to return to very much right now. "Do you know who I am?"

That's when I notice the dark knight kneeling by his side with a thorny spear, his features entirely eclipsed by his streamlined suit of obsidian armor. His presence is so withdrawn that I don't wonder why I didn't notice him earlier.

The king's advisor laughs at me. It is not a kind one, but I want to run more than I want to be pissed off. Even if I weren't flanked by two guards, even if I didn't wear these bracelets, I would not be able to move my feet. They're rooted to the ground by that laugh.

"My name is Mateus. I see you've taken passing interest in my personal guard. His name is Cecil. He is also new to court."

Wait a moment. "What do you mean by, 'also'?" I quietly demand. "I plan on leaving as soon as this mistake is cleared up. Whatever you think I did, you have the wrong person."

He smiles. "You say that your name is Nuage. You claim that you are twenty-four years old, and that you are searching for your little brother who became separated from you after Chaos' last attack on the Garden. What is your brother's name, might I ask?"

I pause for a long, cold moment. "I don't see why that matters."

I look at Cecil. He keeps his head bowed, as if he doesn't want to meet anyone's eyes. That's when I realize that this entire conversation is merely going through the motions of my rights and the procedure of the king's law.

Panic stabs tiny needles through my voice. "Why am I here?" I ask desperately. "Please, I just want to find my brother. He could be dead for all I know."

That makes him smile. "If he's dead, then you have no reason to hurry. I invite you to stay here for an indefinite time. Don't worry. Depending on the speed of the Warrior of Darkness, you should be released soon."

What is going on here?


	35. Pie Jesu

Disclaimer: I don't claim characters or copyrighted products that aren't mine. I do claim any concepts, plot, etc. that are.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Pie Jesu

His frigid blue eyes stare me down, but I feel like something isn't right here. There's an echo of unbearable honesty in this guy's voice, and desperation in his eyes as he demands that I give him the Crystal. Like he's thinking everything through, not just going after the Crystal because doesn't have anything better to do.

Sorry. We need the Crystal more. Too bad it looks like he'll kill for it unless I do something.

He's a stranger, and he's from the Origin World. Two reasons not to open my mouth and tell him the truth. But where would I be without my faith in people? Granted, I'm not in the best place right now, but that might have been prevented if I had kept a tighter hold on my own beliefs.

"Wait," I say. "Please, hang on a second. My name's Zidane. I don't have the Crystal. My brother does."

His eyes narrow. "Your brother's really close by, then. Where is he?"

I keep forgetting that Kuja covers up his tail, the closest thing to family resemblance that we share. For some reason, at this moment, the fact that we don't look like brothers stings me a little.

"This is my brother, Kuja," I tell him. "As you can tell, he's not doing so well. He needs the Crystal to keep him alive, but…"

The look in his eyes is a lost one. "What's keeping him asleep?"

"I am," I sigh. "Kind of. It's a really long story and no offense, but I don't trust you enough to share, but someone put him to sleep like this and if I wake him up before I do something—I don't know what that something is—then he won't remember anything. Who he is, who I am, what happened. Nothing. I'll lose him."

He doesn't seem to take the 'I don't trust you' comment personally. And he doesn't ask where we got the Crystal in the first place, or why that last sentence was so hard for me to say.

"Nice to meet you, Zidane," he says finally after a long silence. "I'd tell you my name, but it's useless around here nowadays. Everyone knows me as the Warrior of Darkness."

The Warrior of Darkness. The Warrior of Light's otherworld twin. But if everyone knows him already, then…

"Let me see him."

"What?" I ask in disbelief. "No!"

"I'm not going to take the Crystal," he sighs. "Like I want your brother's death on my conscience too. Here, take it," he says and I don't know what he means until he squats down on the ground, sets his demonic blade on the ground and stands up again. He gives it a gentle kick, just enough of a scuff to put it out of arm's reach.

"Set him down, I want to check something," he orders me with enough authority to convince me that he knows what he's doing. Only, the last time I did this was how Kuja ended up like this in the first place. I hesitate.

"Okay, seriously, you want me to tell you what's wrong with him or not?" he asks me as he gives me a blank stare. This guy is the first person that I ran into in this empty shell of a town, and he just magically believes that he knows how to help Kuja?

But then again, he also knew about the Crystal, and I get a good feeling about him. There's a line between reasonably cautious and unreasonably paranoid. I get down on one knee and shift Kuja's lower body to the brickwork pavement so that I can hold up his shoulders with one arm and slip a dagger into my other hand for defense. I hope he'll understand.

"Don't bother apologizing, I get where you're coming from," the Warrior of Darkness tells me before I even say anything. He crosses his legs underneath him and gets comfortable on the pavement, and then places his palm over Kuja's heart.

Then he frowns, and looks at me. "There are a lot of hearts in here," he states skeptically.

"What?!"

I have the distinct feeling that if we hadn't just met, he would have called me an idiot right then. "Not physical beating hearts. Obviously," he elaborates. "I mean real hearts. Thousands and thousands of them."

Setting aside the whole concept that he can know this sort of stuff just by a touch, I figure that he must be talking about all those souls from Gaia that are drifting around in Kuja's blood, or wherever they hang out. "Uh, yeah…" I begin, but I don't think I can lie my way out of this one.

"I could tell you weren't from around here the second you looked at me and didn't recognize my face. There isn't a single person in this world that doesn't know my face. The fact that you have the Crystal cleared things up for me, too. Last I checked, the Crystal was with her. This looks like her work, anyways."

He knows about the woman who told us to call her Cosmos. And I'm guessing that he knows about us. Or at least he has an idea, which is more than enough to get Kuja and me both in trouble. But he doesn't see any of this train of thought on my face. The Warrior of Darkness just keeps talking, and talking with a wrenching sort of honesty that I didn't know that I had yet earned from him.

"Somewhere in the world, an echo of your brother is running around. We find him, we fix your brother. She's only done this once before, to someone really important to me. My best friend. Your brother's heart is in terrible shape; that's kind of her calling card. She was fixing the damage that had been done to his memories, but that time she used a vessel to keep his body in while—"

"She caused the damage!" The words come out of me vindictive and hurtful.

He looks at me like I hit him across the face. "No she didn't," he responds like a reflex.

I stare at him in disbelief for a moment.

"No," he breathes. Something clicks behind his head. "The Crystal here… that means… I was told that we wouldn't do it. That we had found another way. I mean, when I found you here, I thought that we were going to bring all of you from the fantasies over here. That was the plan. And once the Crystal had come back, then I could take it and—"

The Warrior of Darkness stands up and turns away. "No. We weren't going to do it. I thought we'd agreed. This is wrong."

"Tell me about it, Kuja and I are the only people left from my world," I reply with more bitterness than he deserves. "Sorry," I add immediately after. "I didn't mean it like that."

He just shakes his head, brushing it off.

I swear that he gets so quiet all of a sudden that I can hear his heart beating. But then he looks up at the sky, and then says hollowly, "I've got to speak with the king."

"What am I supposed to do?" I want to know.

He turns around. "You should come with me, the both of you. It'll be better that way. It's kind of a long walk to the castle. I'll see if we can't make your brother better on the way."

But I don't exactly bound off after him. "He's still going to need the Crystal, even when he wakes up," I say warningly. "If you try to take it, I swear I'll kill you. I'm not kidding."

"I never said you were," the Warrior of Darkness says quietly. Then he smiles. "Looks like I'm forgetting something," he adds, and holds out his hand. At my feet, the demonic blade dissolves into an aura of light and reappears in his outstretched palm.

"Wait a second," I begin. "If you can do that, then what was the point of kicking it over here in the first place?"

"Now you know," the Warrior of Darkness tells me. "You ever see a blade like this, know that they don't like to leave their masters. Be more careful next time if you want to survive here in the kingdom. Don't assume things work here the same way that they did in the world you knew."

"Who's side are you on, anyways…?"

I don't have a choice, do I? As I follow him out of the barren town, I look up at the night sky and wonder how I didn't notice before that there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. There wasn't a single star, either, like they had all fallen from the sky and formed the ground beneath my feet instead of lighting up the darkness.


	36. O Magnum Mysterium

Disclaimer: I don't claim characters or copyrighted products that aren't mine. I do claim any concepts, plot, etc. that are.

For anyone living in a country awaiting the English release of Dissidia, it's now a little more than a month away. I don't know how I'll react. Kuja's voice kind of makes me giggle (yes, that's 'giggle'). Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Thirty-Five: O Magnum Mysterium

I'm moved to a cell on the first floor. It's not actually a cell, but it's all the same to me. It must have once been a halfway-decent room, but with all the trimmings and furniture hollowed out, I'm left with a ghost of what once was.

Mateus didn't remove the bracelets, so I have to lift both my hands to touch my black eye. I wince in anticipation, but the healer sent to me cast flawless magic and there's no evidence left behind of the bruise.

"Thank you," I belatedly call after the waterfowl mage just as he leaves. I've forgotten his name and I want to ask, but I'm embarrassed that I can't remember such an important hero's name. I'm also shaken by the way that he seemed uneasy and didn't say a word, even though he's supposed to have quite a mouth.

I feel like he heard me and wanted to respond, but the guard at my door—Cecil—closed it and flipped the bolt too quickly.

This is ridiculous. I'm past the point where I think that this is a mistake. Suddenly infuriated, I sit down right there in the middle of the floor, crossing my legs under me and I pull my hair out of its tangled excuse for a braid and comb it with my fingers. What am I going to do?

I feel lightheaded; I haven't been given food or water and the last time I slept was because I had been knocked unconscious. Halfway through the braid, I give up and undo the whole thing.

And I don't realize that I've drifted off until a soft knock on the door jolts me awake. I hear the bolt thrown open, and I look up with an obviously displeased face. Why should I be polite to these people?

Cecil enters, and when he takes off his helmet, he transforms into a silver-haired knight with gleaming bright armor that looks like it was forged from moonlight.

"Well, I didn't expect that," I tell him. "What can I do for you?"

He doesn't give me an answer, he just closes the door behind him. I watch as his fingertips linger on the doorknob, and he seals the doorway with magic for silence.

"You can escape," he says plainly.

I look at him. "Do you think I'm stupid? Why should I listen to you?"

Cecil glares at me. "Do you think I'm here because I want to be? Mateus, he promised me that as long as I fight for him, then my brother is safe. And my brother has done quite a few things to attract his attention."

"But that's blackmail," I say. "No, worse."

"You think that's the worst thing? Nuage, he isn't working in your king's absence. Your king is dead."

What? Why do I instantly believe him?

Because these people—Mateus, Cecil—they're not right. They don't belong. So everything terrible makes sense.

I stand up. "Who are you people? Where do you come from? You look like you were born in the Garden, but I know that you're not from there."

"Listen, that's not important right now."

No. The king is dead. Murdered. He's our world's only hope, now that the Master is gone. But just as quickly as I fall into shock, I snap out of it. I'll think about all this later. At the moment, Cecil is right. If I'm being handed a chance to get out of here, then I'll take it. The fact that I don't know why I'm here and that there's no one to know that I'm gone makes me fear for what will happen to me if I stay.

But I shake my head. "If you let me escape, won't you be in danger? Or your brother?"

Cecil shrugs. "I already thought of that. Trust me, if I say you feigned illness and then attacked and overpowered me, then he will believe it."

"That doesn't make any sense. I can't fight, and I don't know any magic. Surely the guards have told him that."

That makes Cecil smile. "He believes that you're faking. All I ask in return is that you seek out—no, if you happen to cross paths with… I don't know, Cloud—"

Cloud?

"Cloud is dead," slips out of my mouth before I can keep it inside. "He died defending the Garden."

"Just trust me," Cecil interrupts. "I realize that you owe nothing to me, but if you can find it in your heart to do this for me, you have no idea how much good you will be doing for us and… and for your kingdom."

Us _and_ your kingdom? Not the same thing, I note well.

"Tell him this: 'the second self.' He'll understand." As he says this, he takes my hands and snaps the bracelets. I'm free, for what it's worth.

"You're insane," I tell him as he moves past me and walks toward the far wall.

He smiles. "Be careful. The guard's schedules are always changing, and he doesn't trust me enough to let me know the variations," he tells me as he lifts his spear and inflicts a wound on his own scalp.

"What are you doing?" I demand.

He waits for the blood to trickle down his face like a tear before he slumps against the wall. "Go," he breathes, and closes his eyes.

I stare at him for a moment or two; for a knight, he's a halfway decent actor. If I didn't know better, I'd say that I'd knocked him out myself.

The corridor that I step into is quiet, so quiet that I feel like my breath will give me away. That's when it occurs to me that I have no idea which way I should go. The only place I know how to get to is the audience chamber, which isn't exactly the smartest move.

Maybe I can find some sort of servant's passage and sneak out near the kitchens. Maybe I can also find clothing other than the stark head-to-toe white that I'm wearing, since it sort of stands out.

Why did Cecil put this much faith in my abilities? I'm clueless here. Why couldn't he have pretended to be moving me to some other location and then pulled his act right in front of the castle gates?

I'm not doing myself any good standing around here; someone's bound to notice that Cecil isn't outside my door. Outside the immense windows I can see a garden. Maybe if I just stay on the outside wall—

"Hey!"

I couldn't even last two minutes? If Cecil can hear this, then he probably thinks I'm an idiot. So much for sneaking around; I give up and run.

There's a somewhat-hidden flight of stairs and with these lush carpets, my feet hardly make a sound. I'm far enough ahead that I take a chance and I duck into the stairwell; the steps lead down to darkness but everything seems to be too well kept-up to lead back to the cell in which I first awoke.

Do I go down? I shouldn't. But I do for the chance that I find some long-lost hidden waterway that I can follow. Me, walking around in the sewers. Well, just a day ago, I never thought this would happen, either.

Sooner rather than later, I come upon light, and I reach the bottom landing and the space opens out to a ship portal, for the ships that people used when the world was still separated. Why would the lights be on? Why would anyone be down here?

I see him at the exact same moment that he sees me, and I feel like I'm dead where I stand. Cecil's message to a hero's grave lingers unspoken in my mouth. Mateus just smiles.

"I was just examining these machines. Quite intriguing," he says like he hasn't seen them before. "Look who couldn't bear to leave me without saying goodbye," he adds softly, mocking me as he takes his time pronouncing each syllable.

Suddenly some sort of protective instinct left over from when my brother and I were together kicks in. Just because I screwed up doesn't mean that Cecil should take the fall. "Did you really think that one guard would be enough?" I smirk, even though I'm shaking on the inside.

I try and channel every little angry impulse from this horrible experience and shape it into my smile and use them to turn my voice cold. It sort of works, amazingly enough. I never thought of acting as my sort of thing before.

Mateus slowly walks towards me. I lock myself in, steadying myself for some sort of strike, but he just drops his barbed staff on the floor and lets it clatter for a second. He jerks my chin upwards to make me look at him. I think I would have preferred for him to hit me.

"I've been told about the peculiarities of the sort of creature that you are, but even I am amazed at the resemblance," he whispers. "Cocky, even when you're trapped…"

This is getting weird. Very, very weird. The way he looks at me makes me shudder with revulsion. He caresses my cheek, and I'm panicked to admit that I used the perfect word there. The fear in my eyes makes him grin.

If I had magic right now, I would use it to get out of here. I've never seen anyone use teleportation magic before, but while I'm wishing, I might as well not do things halfway.

Something a lot like electricity sparks in my throat and runs down to my fingertips. I don't even realize that the lightning that sends Mateus flying belongs to me.

With an impatient growl, he gathers himself off the floor.

"You little—" he begins, but I don't feel like hearing what he decides to call me. Please, someone, somehow, get me out of here, I think as I close my eyes. He's going to kill me.

A sensation like the ocean and sky fused together surrounds me, and just when I feel like I'm going to be sick, I fall to my knees and the bright blue light subsides. I know where I am, and while it's not far from the castle, it's a town in which I could easily lose myself. The town of everlasting summer twilight.

I'm a little sad that I didn't tell him off before I left, but something tells me that if I'm not careful, I'll get another chance.

Here, I can find food, and different clothes, and maybe someplace where I can stay. Not that I have anything to pay with; the only reason I had pulled out that scrap of paper with that poem on it in the first place was because my pockets were suspiciously lighter than they had been before I had fallen into the king's soldiers' possession.

But I do have friends, friends who won't ask questions and certainly won't sell me out. When my brother and I fled the Garden, we came here with Setzer, Seifer and his two friends, and Vivi.

Cecil had asked me to find Cloud. Cloud's grave is back in the Garden, not far from where he fell in battle. His sword marks his grave. Did Cecil want me to pass on his message to a corpse?

He couldn't seriously be asking me to go back to the Garden, though. That was where the door had opened and Chaos had come back, in the very same place where the Warrior of Darkness had been forced to open a door to the darkness those years ago.

He would have remained behind the door for the rest of his life if it hadn't been for the king. And now the king was dead. Maybe it's the Warrior of Darkness that I need to find. If this Mateus person had been pleased to hear that the Crystal was almost found, then it couldn't be good.

And he had mentioned something about my freedom correlating with the Warrior of Darkness finding the Crystal. I want answers, but I don't know who can give them to me.

Kneeling there in the sun-dried grass, I stare at my hands in fear and wonder. I cast magic. Magic that a mage with at least a decade of experience would need to cast without an incantation, like I had just now. Powerful black magic that should have torn a novice like me apart from the inside and left me in pieces. But here I am.


	37. La Cetra

Disclaimer: I don't claim characters or copyrighted products that aren't mine. I do claim any concepts, plot, etc. that are.

First off, I'd like to state that I would never kill Cloud… offscreen. I'm always suspicious when characters bring back news of someone's death and that's that. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Thirty-Six: La Cetra

Just so that no one thinks I'm a thief, like my little brother, I'll have it be known that the clothes from the boxes I found in the secondhand boutiques' back alley doors were not stolen, they were traded. I left my white robes in their place, and I'm sure they're infinitely more valuable than the wrinkled button-down shirt and slacks that I took.

Far enough away from the shops to make me feel less guilty, I sit on a bench and watch the people go by, whether by walking or skateboarding or, further off, riding the trains. Setzer lives somewhere around here, but I can't bring myself to go up to his doorstep just yet.

Well, I didn't want to stand out, and I certainly got what I wanted. I practically blend into the wall, as long as no one looks at my face. The slacks are in particularly terrible condition—they look like they've been through an avalanche. But I needed the fabric to be weak so I could alter the slacks for my tail, so I shouldn't complain.

The tail. No one else that I know, apart from my brother, has a tail. Granted, some people from the Garden—like Sephiroth—had weirder appendages, like a single wing.

No one ever knew what the fight between Cloud and Sephiroth was about. It was a bit of a pastime, actually, to make up stories about what had happened. Sephiroth had killed one of Cloud's friends. Cloud had tried to kill Sephiroth and Sephiroth was out for revenge. Sephiroth was kind of an odd one, honestly. He spent all of his time in the library up at the mansion, and when he looked at you, you didn't want to return the favor.

I suppose there was darkness in his heart, because when Chaos came the first time around, it snapped up Sephiroth's heart like he had been waiting in line.

But anyways, eventually those stories became something of a fantasy and took on a life of their own. Laid out on one of the terraces overlooking the waterfalls that defied logic, we would make up dreams that couldn't possibly be real, like Cloud and Sephiroth had come from a different world far, far away, a world with armies and soldiers, bloodshed and death. We even took names from the volumes of mythology in the mansion's library, and gave those places names, like Nibelheim. Midgar.

Over the years, Cloud's story just became sadder. One day, I said that I didn't want to play that game anymore. The story about Sephiroth being artificially created, about Cloud being forced to become a test subject along with his friend. And especially the part of the story where Cloud had suppressed his own memories and believed that he actually _was_ his friend. Even now, that part still strikes an unpleasant chord in me.

Why did that Mateus ask me what my brother's name was? Did he ask because he knew that I couldn't give him an answer even if I wanted to?

It's just there, an inexplicable gap in my memory. Everything else is perfect except for that one little shameful smudge.

If I hadn't looked up right then, I would have stayed on that bench for another hour maybe before going on to do who knows what. But I do look up, and I see spiky blond hair that I would recognize a mile away.

He strays away from the crowd; even as I watch him in disbelief, he rushes past on the way to a shadowed street running between buildings. Cloud, you died. You shouldn't be here right now.

I stand up. "Cloud!" I shout. But he doesn't even look back.

All of my running is good for something. Three blocks later, I skitter to a stop when I realize he's not going anywhere. He's been chasing somebody, and that somebody is a man in a black leather jacket. My heart skips a beat; no one had seen one of them since the worlds had come together again, except for… her. But she was different. She didn't wear black, she wore white. White, head to toe. A little like my robes.

I crouch behind a pile of crates that smell like oil and sawdust.

"Wait up a second," Cloud says, placating, to the man in black. It's his voice. It's Cloud. This is impossible. He must be some kind of doppelganger created by Chaos. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. About… you being a puppet, and not knowing any better. That was pretty low of me."

The man in black shrugs. "You were right," he says quietly, looking at the ground. "Listen, can we not take this time to pour our guts out? The only reason you see me instead of Sephiroth is because I wanted to warn you. Stop trying to save me. Believe me, I'm not worth it."

I cringe a little from behind my hiding place as Cloud practically tackles the man in black and grabs him by his collar. "Kadaj, I don't care that we wasted the last days on our world trying to kill each other. If you say that you're not worth it, then it'll start to be true."

Kadaj is his name? Why does that name sound familiar? I can't place it, but it lingers in the peripheral vision of my memory, like a word I didn't quite remember correctly.

For a moment, they look like they're going to start a fight. But then Kadaj tells Cloud, "Don't try to make me feel better just so that I'll get rid of Sephiroth for you."

Cloud flinches, but doesn't let go. "You don't have anything else to say?"

Kadaj sighs bitterly; he grasps his hand over Cloud's. And then he says softly, so softly that I can barely hear, "It wasn't supposed to be this way. I was supposed to do what Mother wanted, and everything was supposed to go as planned. I wasn't supposed to start seeing things from your side. I wasn't supposed to think for myself."

That's when all those made-up stories come rushing back to me. Cloud—the Garden's Cloud, the Cloud that was born and raised in the Garden, and died for the Garden—is talking to this person who isn't like anyone I've seen before, and together they're speaking about the fantasies that we wove as if they were fact.

Cloud lets Kadaj go, and Kadaj pulls his hand back as if he's been shocked. Kadaj opens his mouth to say something, but then changes his mind. He turns his back on Cloud, and begins to walk away.

Shaking his head, Cloud goes after him.

"What are you doing, following me?" Kadaj shouts back, nearly hysteric. "You don't know if he'll come out or not. If he does, he'll hurt you. He'll hurt me too, but it's not like he wouldn't anyways."

"You don't want me to get hurt?"

Kadaj stops. "Cloud, do you know how many of your friends would be dead if I hadn't stuck my neck out? Let's start with Bartz, the one who stayed by you when Sephiroth wanted to say 'hi'. And how about Tidus? Do you think Sephiroth ordinarily would have left the job unfinished? And Cecil?"

I gasp. I can't help it, I'm terrible at this stealth thing.

They both stop speaking and turn in my direction; I know they aren't looking my way because they think the sunset's pretty. If I don't stand up now, I'll just look even more suspicious than I do already.

But if this phantom of Cloud knows Cecil, then maybe this was the Cloud that Cecil had meant. As I gather myself to my feet, I call out, "Cloud, you're alive?"

Kadaj rolls his eyes. "It's just one of the inhabitants of this world. They saw your face and thought you were a ghost," he mutters. "You need to keep a lower profile, 'fallen hero'. Maybe cut that hair of yours."

"Is that why you're following me…?" Cloud asks me reluctantly. "Because I'm a ghost. We're both ghosts. You're seeing me because you need to let go. I'm not coming back, so fight and… don't let my death be in vain," he adds after a moment of consideration.

Kadaj smirks. "Someone's done this before…"

I stare at the both of them blankly. "Honestly, I would feel better if you were a ghost, but I'm guessing that's not actually the case. Cecil told me to tell you 'the second self', whatever that means."

For some reason, that makes Kadaj bolt. "I'm not supposed to be hearing this," he explains before he turns on his heel and runs off.

"Kadaj!" Cloud calls after him, and then looks at me. "Good work, Cecil," he mutters under his breath. He stares at me in dazed shock. "I guess you already know who I am. I don't know where we're going just yet, but you're coming with me."

Am I crazy if I genuinely think that this Cloud is not the Cloud I knew, but the Cloud that we dreamt up those years ago in the Garden in our fantasies?


	38. Enigma Variations

Disclaimer: I don't claim characters or copyrighted products that aren't mine. I do claim any concepts, plot, etc. that are.

I know that some people have missed Sephiroth. He makes an appearance in this chapter. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Enigma Variations

This Cloud won't tell me anything, except not to leave his sight. It's like I'm being passed from one prison to the next. At least Cloud doesn't make me feel odd when he looks at me, unlike that Mateus.

I stare daggers at him still. I never told him I would go with him; he and this surprisingly strong young lady practically dragged me here. And where is 'here'?

'Here' is a hideout in the steep-walled, quieter district of the town that Cloud chased a gaggle of kids from. They pouted for a while, but Cloud was not in a negotiating mood, and for some reason, he seems to be good with children. So they left and, I'm sorry to say, haven't brought local authorities or bothered us since.

"I'm hungry," I tell him, my voice full of acid.

"Terra is taking care of that," Cloud returns placidly.

I sigh in exaggerated impatience. "I knew those kids you chased out of here. I used to live here."

"Hm. They didn't seem to know you."

"But they did! My brother used to play with them from time to time, when they weren't in school."

He shrugs. "Don't let it bother you."

"Fine, I'll let something else bother me. Like this whole situation. You can't keep me here like this," I say for the hundredth time. Even I am becoming weary of it.

"Watch me," he says, and he sounds tired of it, too. "Better you're here with us than with the Emperor. Mateus," he clarifies.

He's talking, now that he has nothing better to do. He can't go outside much either, since I'm not the only one who would recognize his face. And now that he's talking, I have an idea.

"Like Cecil? Is it all right for him to be with Mateus? Cecil didn't mention this was the reward I would get in exchange for delivering his message."

I don't want to try teleporting again; for all I know, I could wind up back in Mateus' clutches—literally. But this Cloud, or his friend Terra, wouldn't know this town half as well as I do. If I can just get Cloud to look away for a few seconds…

"It's safer for Cecil to be with him than it is for you. And Cecil—"

Just as I wonder how I can possibly cause a distraction with the electricity tingling beneath my fingertips, there's the sound of something shifting in the rafters above. Cloud looks up and frowns in annoyance, and I can see that he's debating whether to check it out or not. This is perfect.

Grudgingly, he stands up and grabs his buster sword from where it leaned against the makeshift doorway. "Don't even think about it," he growls over his shoulder before he ducks his head out. As soon as I can't see his shadow, I jump from my seated position.

Of course it's too much to hope for that he moved completely away from the doorway. He might have expected me to make a move for freedom, but he didn't expect me to climb.

"Nuage!" he calls after me.

This tail is good for something, at least. I'm up three floors on the roof before he knows what happened, and I don't stop moving. Partially because I don't want to wait for him to find a fire escape, but also because I discover who made that noise in the first place.

Kadaj's stare meets mine. He doesn't call out, but I know that he wants me to follow him.

Well, if Cloud won't give me answers, then maybe Kadaj will.

When the rooftops get too nice to run over without drawing attention from the residents, he drops out of my vision into a dark alleyway. I do the same; he's waiting for me.

I've barely caught myself before he starts off again. He leads me through a patch of the woods, and before we're clear of the branches, I know that we're going to the old abandoned mansion. Why, I don't know. But I don't know why anything has happened to me lately; I'm glad to be merely doing something of my own volition for once.

When we're inside the dusty foyer, he closes the doors behind us. "I bet you've got a lot of questions," he says quietly. He sounds strained somehow, like he's trying to bite back his words while speaking them at the same time.

"Yeah, I do," I respond. "Are you telling me you can answer them?"

He shrugs. "If you want. I'll try," he says and walks in front of me. For some reason, that's the first time I notice that he's shivering. No, he can't be cold, not in that jacket. He's shaking like his muscles won't obey him. When he leads me to the library, he walks in first and leans against a bookcase for support.

"Kadaj, are you okay?" I ask warily.

He sighs like he's letting something go, and faces me. Tears roll down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he chokes.

"Sorry?" I echo. I don't understand. "Sorry for what?"

"For this," he whispers, and something changes behind his eyes. I can't quite grasp what it is, but it bolts me to the floor like I'm trapped under a hypnotic, serpentine stare. I can't move. But I can speak.

"Sephiroth," I breathe. My heart seizes up in fear. No, no. This can't be happening. He's going to take my heart. I'll turn into a beast of Chaos, if I'm not lucky enough to die.

"A smart one. You know better than to fight me," he chuckles. It's an icy liquid sound that trickles down my spine. "But I'm not the Sephiroth you think you know. The reason you're here has not changed. You want answers, don't you?"

As he talks, he turns his back on me and I see that he speaks the truth: he isn't the Sephiroth I know. There's no wing clawing at his shoulder. But if he's not the Sephiroth I know, then I don't know what he wants. That makes me afraid.

He casually meanders to one of the shelves that line the walls and peruses the titles before choosing one. "Genetic mutation. A subject that holds a special place in my heart," he explains. "Yours too, if I'm not wrong. Didn't I ask you a question?"

"Yes," my voice flutters. "I mean, yes, I want answers," I say, forcing evenness into my words. "What did you mean about—"

"About genetic mutation? Well, it's not that simple. Why don't we start off with why you're suddenly the most popular young man in the Origin World?"

"The Origin World…?"

He smiles condescendingly. "What we call the world you claim as your own. I know what you're thinking… there are no other worlds. Well, you're correct. There are no other worlds. Not anymore, anyways."

"You're just telling me what I already know. The worlds were reunited before Chaos returned."

"And how did your world banish Chaos in the first place?"

"I—" I begin. I don't have an answer.

"Now for something you don't know—what is your brother's name?"

My brother's name. I glare at him as he reshelves the book on genetic mutation. He wanders far, to the opposite wall. When he finds what he's looking for, he pulls the volumes sharply from the shelf.

"Cloud did the same thing. He found his own life wanting, so he simply pretended that he was his friend for a while. Pathetic, but understandable, considering that he is… what he is."

I notice that the volumes he takes are not leather-bound like the others. They aren't bound at all; they're files, so many that they fill his arms.

"You, Nuage, are quite a curious creature," he says as he sets them down in one of the chairs. They aren't covered with dust like the rest of the furniture; someone has been here recently. Maybe him, maybe someone else.

"You are what this world calls a 'Nobody', but your original is a man named Kuja from one of the worlds that this world created—"

"You're lying!" I exclaim. "I'm not a Nobody! I have a home—I have a brother—I'm not making any of this up! Why don't you explain to me who you are? You're not Sephiroth, not the Sephiroth from my home—"

"Shh," he hushes me. His voice drops until it sounds like the voice inside of my head, the voice of reason. "It's all right. Accept it. It's the truth. You know that not only can you not recall your brother's name, but you can't remember his face either. Isn't the truth easier?"

I can't breathe right. The air comes in gasps. Because he's right. The Sephiroth from the Garden would never come after me; I have no heart for him to devour.

"See, it's going to be fine. Because you're not an ordinary Nobody, are you? No. You wore white robes before you found those rags, am I right? The man you were created from… very deep down… had a pure heart when you were formed. The light of the Crystal might have had something to do with it. You know what that means, don't you?"

I shake my head.

"You look like you're a reader. These will explain everything; I originally found them in the basement, but considering the circumstances, this is a much more comfortable reading room."

Those stacks of files seem to stare at me. "Take as much time as you need," he says softly.

Maybe I'm lightheaded because I haven't eaten in ages; soon all this running is bound to catch up with me. Maybe I shouldn't run anymore. I sit on the floor at the chair's side, and in the eternal twilight the passage of time is lost to me.

Sephiroth comes and goes; he knows that I won't leave.

The fantasies that I falsely remembered weaving in the Garden are real. I read the stories that the Princess of Heart's Nobody wove so that another place could relieve the burden of Chaos. There are pages missing from the file containing information about Sephiroth's world. In the ones that remain, there's no mention of Kadaj. I wonder what he is, but I'm more nauseously curious about the world that I came from.

Kuja. While my hair is as dark as the starless sky, his hair shines like moonlight. But there are always differences like that when a Nobody separates from the original. It was his twisted, destructive magic that saved me from Mateus—the Emperor. I don't understand how he could have a pure heart, knowing what I do now about his past. I'm ashamed that I'm a part of him.

I don't remember passing out, but I do remember waking up with food in front of me—bland breads from the stalls in the next district over, with Kadaj looking over me.

He opens his mouth to speak, but then Sephiroth takes control. I look at the food, and shake my head.

"I'm going to die," I choke. "I'm a Nobody. I'm going to die."

"Look at me," Sephiroth says firmly. "You're a different sort of Nobody, so the rules need not apply to you. Your brother is real, and your life can be too. You can even make it so that you will not die. You can gain a true life and it will be yours."

I shake my head. "No, that's impossible—"

"It's very possible."

"How?"

That's when he smiles. "I'll tell you how; you have my word. But I want you to do something for me first."

I don't want to die. This will to live wells up in me stronger than anything. I wonder if it's even mine. It isn't. It's left over from… Kuja. The very thought of that name fills me with hate. He's the reason that Chaos returned to this world. Why should he get to live?

This hate isn't even mine. It's his, all his. Isn't there anything that I can call my own?

Kuja hated his brother. I would give anything to have one. That's mine. If Sephiroth can do what he promises—

"What is it? I'll do anything."

"You don't have to do 'anything'," he laughs amiably. "I merely want you to use the gift you've been given to do me a favor."

Gift?

"Think. The last Nobody to be born from a pure heart was the one who created the worlds from which my kind originated. I want you to make me a world. Not an empty one; a living world for me to conquer."

"But I've never done that before," I protest, even though I'll do it for him right now if it's possible.

"I don't think that much matters," he assures me. "You can do it."


	39. Spectre of the Rose

Disclaimer: I don't claim characters or copyrighted products that aren't mine. I do claim any concepts, plot, etc. that are.

As promised, I didn't kill off anyone important off-screen. So, Zidane, Kuja, and the Warrior of Darkness are alive and... well, for the most part, well. Shantotto also says hi for the first time in this chapter. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Spectre of the Rose

"Don't look at me like that," the Warrior of Darkness tells me as we take a breather on top of a hill. I'm hungry—a sensation that I would have welcomed again if I were someplace with more accessible food—and I feel like I could use a nap, or at least a nice, long quiet stop so I can get myself sorted out.

The path sweeps below us to the bottom of the hill, but it's deceiving. On the other side of a gate along the road, a great castle glowing against the night towers above us.

"Don't look at you like what?"

"Like I have an answer for you."

An answer for me. I could go for one of those right about now. I thought that knowing more about the condition that Kuja was forced under would be enough, but when the Warrior of Darkness explained what it meant to put Kuja's heart and memories in a place where it could be safe while it healed, I realized that knowing wasn't what I wanted after all.

I would have been much better off if I had just said, "fix him, I don't care how," and closed my eyes and let the Warrior of Darkness deal with it. Because now that I know there's another person like Kuja out there somewhere, how can I decide that stranger's life isn't worth as much as Kuja's?

Logically, there shouldn't be a problem. That stranger isn't the incarnation of Cosmos, that stranger is even technically a resident of the Origin World. But it's not that easy. It never is.

And it's not like I can ask myself, "what would Kuja do?" because I know that he wouldn't care; he would kill that other person if it meant saving his own life. He would have once upon a time, at least.

"I already told you how you can save both of them. It's not my fault you don't like that solution," the Warrior of Darkness tells me flatly.

He means waking Kuja up now. That would 'save' both of their lives.

"Like you would do that, if you were in my place," I reply.

The Warrior of Darkness shakes his head. "I have been in your place, remember? And you're right, I didn't do that. I saved the life of the person I knew, and let the other one die."

"Was it worth it?"

"In the end, I still couldn't save him, if that's what you're asking. But if I hadn't given him that chance to fight, then I would have condemned this world to death. And myself, as it turns out. He couldn't bring me out of the darkness into the light, but he dragged me into the twilight when I needed it most."

I didn't like the sound of that. I wanted a halfway-decent ending. But could I really expect that? Our worlds were gone, and as far as I can tell, they weren't coming back. I had no idea what I was supposed to do after I woke up Kuja, or if there was anything I was supposed to do at all.

Kuja shifts in my arms. For a while, he'd been kind of distant and lazy, just laying there. "Sephiroth. A new world…?" he mutters in his sleep, the words slurred a little.

That's weird. Kuja had been talking in his sleep for a while now, but it was mostly nonsense. Some complaining, and here and there a half-recognizable black magic incantation.

"So where are we going?"

"Well, we're heading for the King's castle of course, but after we pass by this castle, the next place on the path is the Garden. If we see anyone between here and the town past the Garden, then they're certainly brave, I'll give them that."

"Well, no braver than anyone else wandering around like us. The Garden, huh? Sounds like fun."

"No, you don't get it," the Warrior of Darkness says immediately. "The Garden isn't safe. That's where I…I…"

"You what?" I want to know. I don't think that the question is as heavy as it turns out to be.

He shakes his head, and solemnly directs his gaze up to the castle. "Well, it's nothing that people don't know already, I guess. No harm in telling you too. There's a mansion in the Garden. A few years ago, I… I fell to Chaos. And it took to me. It really liked me. There, I opened up a door to the darkness, using the stolen hearts of my world's seven princesses. That friend I told you about? He sealed it back, but that wasn't enough. Because one of those fantasies that we created became so consumed by darkness that it sent Chaos back here, and it came back through that door I'd made."

The Warrior of Darkness sighed. "If I had never made that door, then maybe Chaos would have come through another door. A safer door. And maybe that friend I told you about would still be here right now."

My eyes sink to the ground so fast that even I realize I look like I've got something to hide. Right then and there, I decide that the Warrior of Darkness doesn't need to know that it was my world that did that. That, indirectly, Kuja was responsible for whatever state the Warrior of Darkness' friend was in at the moment.

I stand up. As we walk down the hill and come up by the gate, the Warrior of Darkness says, "But anyways. What I told you before about your brother's condition? I'm not a hero. I can't make a hero's decision. You've got to decide whether you want to be a hero, or you want to be a—heads up!"

I look up, but just in time to see a fireball coming my way from beyond the gate. The Warrior of Darkness bolts in front of me and diffuses the magic like it was just a swing from a sword.

"Chaos?" I want to know.

He shakes his head. "Nope. I would have felt it miles off, you know that already. Any of your 'friends' know how to cast magic?"

My first arresting thought is the Emperor. But when he blocks the next round of fire, we both hear something that sounds like a distinctly female giggle. Last time I checked, neither the Cloud of Darkness nor Ultimecia were much for giggling.

The Warrior of Darkness shakes his head. "All right, this is just someone mucking around. They obviously can't see either of us very well, or they wouldn't have attacked. Like we don't have enough to worry about—"

"Oh, I can see the three of you perfectly well!" a small, high-pitched voice sang out. "And I see that you don't look so good; I've got the advantage. So you'd better start begging for mercy."

A tiny figure jumps down from the gate's wall just as an arrow whistles down from above. But it falls short of the Warrior of Darkness and myself; in fact, it sticks into the ground only a foot in front of our pint-sized attacker.

"Shantotto, stop! He's one of ours!"

And I sigh in relief. "That's Firion's voice," I tell the Warrior of Darkness as I look up to the castle and see his silhouette against the golden light pouring onto a balcony.

"Someone you know is here…?" the Warrior of Darkness mutters.

"Yeah. What a relief, crazy mages aside—" I add, and stare pointedly at the tiny female mage that Firion identified as 'Shantotto'. "I mean, nice to meet you, I'm Zidane," I quickly say.

"Zidane, I'm relieved to see you alive and well," Firion calls out across the darkness. "I'll be right down. Shantotto, don't torch them in the few seconds I'm gone."

She rolls her eyes. "Hmph. The only crazy mage around here is the one you're whisking away in your arms, if Firion's word is to be believed. What's he doing here? And who are you?" she demands, staring down the Warrior of Darkness.

"One of yours, I take it?" the Warrior of Darkness mutters poisonously. He obviously did not enjoy batting away Shantotto's fire spells, or the suggestion that he beg for mercy. "Don't you know who I am?"

Shantotto shrugs. "What, are you supposed to be somebody important, handsome?" she asks defensively.

He sighs. "I didn't mean it like that," he tells her as I hear Firion run over the bridge and watch him open the gate.

"Zidane," he says, but a wary chill creeps into his voice before he can even finish my name. That's how I know that he's seen Kuja in my arms. I forgot that I was the only person there besides Jecht and Golbez, and the Warrior of Light. Do the others know where they are? Do they even know that the one they called Cosmos is dead?

"What's he doing here," Firion says then.

"I knew they were suspicious," Shantotto adds smugly.

"Shantotto—" Firion begins, but then shakes his head. "I thought you hated your brother. But I suppose when you sent us away like that, to speak with him alone… I should have realized that you didn't hate him after all. How badly is he hurt? You must have been surprised too, when you woke up in this strange new world. Are you like Shantotto?"

The last question was addressed to the Warrior of Darkness. I mull over Firion's words and realize that he must think that Kuja is here because… well, how could Firion possibly guess the real reason for everything?

"Firion, right?" the Warrior of Darkness responds. "I'm not sure what being 'like Shantotto' means exactly, but I'm fairly sure that I'm not. You see—"

"It's okay, I'll say it," I interrupt him. "Firion, we have a hell of a lot to talk about and a lot of it is going to sound downright weird."

Shantotto makes an impatient noise. "Well, sure, let's just stand around outside in the damp like we don't have a nice warm castle we can chat in instead. I'm sure our gracious host wouldn't mind if we had a couple more guests."

That's when the Warrior of Darkness takes a nervous step backwards. "Go inside…?" he asks hollowly, panic creeping into his voice.

"Like I just said," Shantotto replies acidly. "Did I stutter?"

Then the Warrior of Darkness laughs nervously. "Hey, Zidane, why don't you go inside and get all rested up and chat with Firion. I'll be just fine out here. I think I'll look at the stars—I mean, the places where the stars used to be…"

I look at him. "What's your problem?" I ask indelicately.

"Uh," the Warrior of Darkness stalls, "The guy who lives there doesn't like me very much. It's my bad, not his, so don't think any ill of him..."

Then, a beautiful young woman in unabashedly plain clothing steps out from the castle doors; something about her catches our attention even across the bridge. She looks like royalty disguised in the clothes of a shopkeeper.

"Riku! Is that you?" she calls out.

"'Riku'…" I repeat. I stare at the Warrior of Darkness. "'Riku'?"

He ignores me, pushes past me, and delivers a shaking bow in her direction. "Princess… I…"

"You, sir, are hopeless," she laughs kindly. "You had my forgiveness for stealing my heart as soon as I looked into yours," she says to him. "Now all of you, come inside before you attract Chaos."

As we follow the princess' footsteps, I feel lighter somehow. It's as if hearing that short conversation made the fear of the longer one I have planned with Firion seem less daunting. If the Warrior of Darkness—Riku?—can be forgiven, then maybe Firion and the others will forgive Kuja and myself as well when I have to inevitably tell each of them that even though it maybe was the right thing to do, I still murdered Cosmos for Kuja's sake.

Not only had I killed the representation of calm and order, I had killed our sense of order, our sense of place. Our sense of destiny. Did we even have a destiny now?

Did something like that really matter? Not to me, but my choice hadn't just affected me, it had affected everyone. I wonder if my choice had been a hero's choice. Or if not, if that made things better or worse.


	40. Trauersinfonie

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Cecil returns in this chapter, and Terra makes her first direct re-appearance! It's good that she's back; a little feminine influence was just what everyone needed. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Trauersinfonie

I know what I have to do. I do have a brother, and he is trapped inside Zidane's body. Sephiroth tells me that if I kill Kuja, then my brother will free himself from Zidane of his own accord.

And the best part is, Kuja won't even put up a fight. All I have to do is take the Crystal from him.

If I'm so confident, then why do I keep on telling myself information that I already know?

The only physical manifestation of the world that I have created is a rip in the air that Sephiroth caresses with a diabolic smile playing on his lips. The world I have made is not quite right; it's not fragmented, but there are two or three distinct parts to it. I'm not sure what happened, honestly. Everything seemed to be working through me rather than because of me. Only the details, like names, faces, and places remain solid in my memory. The grand design is beyond even my grasp.

Even as I sit here in Sephiroth's smiling favor, warily watching him judge my creation, I'm not stupid enough to believe that I'm safe from him. Left in the wake of my realizations, the tide that brought me to him has pulled away and abandoned me here. I know that he's using me beyond this power he wheedled out of me, even if I do not possess the information to comprehend to what end. He didn't tell me that I'm Kuja's Nobody just because he thought it was his civic duty to inform me, after all.

Kuja doesn't like being used; so while the mere suggestion that I'm Sephiroth's puppet makes me angry, I don't know how I feel about it. Maybe it's something we share, but I refuse to allow for the chance that my anger is something entirely his.

"In my world…you named this boy 'Hope'?" Sephiroth asks me.

"If you don't like it, you can kill him," I answer without much thought. To the tune of his cold laugh, I wonder if there's something else stirring in my irritation beyond Sephiroth's grasp.

"I think I'd like that. And this girl, what is her name?"

I look up, and I know who he means after a cursory glance. These people are my creations, after all. Creations that no sooner had they been molded from my hands did I condemn them to death. No, even worse, for they would not have been conceived but for Sephiroth's bargain.

"Lightning," I answer as a sudden thought strikes me.

My heart races. This is something that I know is mine and not Kuja's: a thoroughly wired sense of right and wrong. What I did was wrong.

I look up at Sephiroth then, searching for the way to trade back the knowledge of myself and of how to end Kuja's life, to erase—no, not erase, to go back in time and have my created world never be so that no guilt lingers.

But once conceived, I cannot wish my creations back into non-existence. I can't demand control once I have withdrawn my guiding hand, like I suspect the original creator of all the first worlds must have felt. Who was I to create new life, anyways? I'm not even a person. And knowing what I do of Sephiroth's origins, I am the cause and effect—creator and experiment—twisted into an infinity loop.

I'm what Kuja claimed he wanted to be: a god. But I don't believe that he wanted to be like this. I'm not beginning to understand him, am I? No, I can't do that. I have to keep myself to myself.

I need to find my brother. The brother sleeping inside of Zidane, the brother who will set me to rights. This entire catastrophe occurred because I simply wanted to find my brother. If I complete my original goal, then maybe I can find the strength to resolve the complications that have snared me along the way. And I wouldn't have to do it alone.

But that won't happen if Sephiroth lied to me. If there isn't anyone. If he's lying to me about everything.

Well, not everything. The fact that I'm this thing instead of a person is true. But all the rest—of course it's a lie. It's all lies. And a good thing too—everything is so much easier this way, if everything is a lie.

I'm such a coward.

"Sephiroth, you didn't tell me why Kuja is like that. Asleep, I mean," I say softly. Entranced with the vision of my creation, he doesn't respond for a few seconds.

"You needn't worry yourself about it," he answers me vaguely, telling me exactly what I want to hear. "He's asleep because you're awake."

I shake my head. "No. I'm the effect, not the cause. He's asleep because something happened to him, something that made him lose his heart. Something that brought him near death. And that something isn't what I read in those files."

Sephiroth looks at me. "Do you want your precious brother or don't you?"

"Are you saying that knowing the answer to my question will make that harder?"

"I suppose it depends on what kind of person you are. Or rather, what kind of person Kuja was."

"What kind of person was Kuja?"

"A coward."

The sound of cracking wood gives me a jolt. In wide-eyed fright, I stare at what had once been the library doors. No ordinary sword could have done that in one blow. So it's no surprise to me that the person standing on the other side of the frame is Cloud.

"You've come," Sephiroth says with a frigid smile. His eyes light on Cloud like a predator's on prey.

Terra stands behind him, off to the side. She doesn't need to be defended by Cloud. But there's someone else, too.

"Cecil!" I call out as Sephiroth moves behind me. He grabs my collar and tosses me behind him. I wince as I fall against a bookcase.

"Cloud," he says, sounding as if he enjoys pronouncing that single, complex syllable. "How does it feel, knowing that the world you struggled so much to protect was nothing but a lie?"

"Sephiroth, now's not the time. Return him to us," Cloud says impatiently. "And hand over Kadaj."

"Stop protecting that shadow, unless you want me to enjoy taking him away from you even more. You think I didn't watch you hold my shadow in his last moments? Do you honestly believe I couldn't hear your heart scream in the instant you realized that he was ultimately blameless, that the only one you slaughtered was an innocent?"

"Sephiroth, I'm warning you—"

"That for all your actions, you might as well have murdered that Ancient girl yourself? Do you, shadow, still like to play pretend that you're not yourself, but your deceased friend? Or has the weight of the death of your world finally dragged you into reality?"

Cloud withdraws a little without seeming to realize it. But then he smiles, of all curious things.

"I'm not playing your game, Sephiroth. I'm letting go."

"You say that now, but how else will you carry on when you pursue me into the new world that this little shadow has created for me?" he asks mockingly as he steps back and runs his hand along the rip in the air. "And I know you'll pursue me; you wouldn't abandon Kadaj, now would you? No, no more than Zidane would abandon his brother… right, Nuage?"

Upon hearing that, I pick myself up from the floor. But Cloud's looking at me now.

"Did you really do it, Nuage?" he wants to know. "Did you make that world?"

"I—" I begin, but can't bring myself to say 'yes'.

"He did," Sephiroth confirms in my silence. "Because there's something the same about Zidane and his brother, and you and Kadaj. But there's no room for Nuage in the equation, so he did this for me."

As deft at Sephiroth is at telling me just what I want to hear, he's terribly skilled at wounding me without even lifting that sword of his.

"The question, Cloud, is not whether or not we will carry our little skirmish over into this new world, but if the others will follow."

"What," Cecil interjected into their conversation, "this world isn't enough for you?"

Sephiroth glared at him. "You're fools, all of you. Especially that Emperor. What would anyone want with a world that's dying in its heart? What is there left to conquer? This one, on the other hand, is what is required: a freshly-groomed battlefield, a slate that needs cleaning before I craft my whims."

"Something tells me you're more interested in cleaning the slate than actually using it afterwards," Cecil retorts.

"Cecil, step back," Terra advises. "You're just—you're just endangering yourself."

With a frown, Cecil obeys and falls back to rejoin her. Cloud turns on Sephiroth, and even though he doesn't drop his guard, a sense of resignation dims his eyes. "Sephiroth, I'll make a deal with you."

"Cloud—" Terra objects.

"Give them Nuage, and I'll come with you to your new world," Cloud interrupts before Terra can say any more. "Does that sound good to you?"

What?

"Cloud," Sephiroth says, condescendingly pleased. "I'm surprised, but at the same time…"

Something heated wells up inside of me. "Cloud," I cry out. "Don't you dare sacrifice your life for me!"

"Sorry. You don't get a say in this," Cloud answers me. "You two don't either," he adds to Cecil and Terra. "Don't worry, I won't be sacrificing my life. Too many people gave their lives for me to be here right now. If I die, then I'm in for the longest lecture in the universe."

"Cloud—"

"This isn't negotiable, Nuage," he tells me as he drops his weapon and slings it over his shoulder. "So seriously, for this one time, don't try anything."

"Why don't you go through first, Cloud," Sephiroth tells him. "I'll be generous and give you time to find your bearings."

"I don't think so," Cloud shakes his head. "You'll just kill him. As flattered as I'd be to know that I'm worth so much to you," he adds dryly, "I know that he's not useful to you anymore, and that's the only reason you're giving him up. You, on the other hand, know that I'll keep my word."

"That's right—even after you go through with this, you have no guarantee that every shadow you wish to protect will be kept safe. I do still have something you want, don't I?"

"That's the idea," Cloud tells him, unfazed.

"Come and claim what isn't yours, then, if you can. It seems that you've found yourself a spirit. I didn't enjoy breaking you nearly as much the last time," Sephiroth taunts, and looks at me one last time before he dives into the ripple in the air that was my creation.

"Cloud, don't follow him. Just close up the world and leave him there," Cecil says desperately. But Cloud shakes his head.

"I'm not trying to trick him. I'm trying to contain him. This is all I can do, make sure that there's one less person going after Cosmos. Come and get me when you've made Cosmos safe from the ones I couldn't get rid of."

Terra steps forward. "I'm not trying to stop you. But before you go, I want to know how you came across this sense of certainty. I feel that Cecil and I could use some insight into your strength. For our sakes," she adds with a wry smile.

"I didn't realize it until I came here and we found out what we did," Cloud tells her. "But do you remember when I told you how Tidus survived Sephiroth's attack? That's why. Tidus isn't with us anymore, but because of that, Tidus stayed with us a little longer than he might have otherwise."

"Cloud," I say his name, but I don't know how to continue.

"You had better listen to Terra and Cecil, I swear," he says to me. "Goodbye."

"No," I refuse. "Not 'goodbye'. This is my fault, for running off. I'll see you later."

"No, I meant what I said the first time. Goodbye," he says and looks at me with something almost like an apology, and steps through. The rip in the air sews up behind him, and I'm left with Terra and Cecil.

Goodbye, he had said. We wouldn't see each other again. But he had also told Terra and Cecil that he wasn't going to die. Who was he lying to, Terra and Cecil or me?

Was it possible that he hadn't been lying to any of us?


	41. Moto Perpetuo

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

I apologize for taking so long to update. Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Forty: Moto Perpetuo

I wonder if the rest of my life will be like this, running from shelter to shelter like a fugitive.

And when I'm running around like a fugitive for the rest of my life, I wonder if Kuja will even stick with me. Between my immortality—the little detail that started this stupid fight between us in the first place, now that I think about it—and the Crystal, we could both be around for quite some time. It would be stupid and kind of sad if he ditched me for all of eternity, but I don't think I could blame him if he abandoned me.

"The Emperor is scouring the entire kingdom for him," Firion says as he closes the study door behind us. The Warrior of Darkness was forced to stay behind with Shantotto to have a nice, long chat with our hostess. Her name is Belle, and she's enough of a beauty to deserve the name. But there's something sad about a beauty forced into hiding like this. I didn't understand how giving Firion shelter would be something to be afraid of, but I also didn't know that the Emperor was in any position of power in this new world. He sure worked fast.

"Who, the Warrior of Darkness?" I ask, somewhat distracted, as I set Kuja down on the fainting couch near the fireplace. It's a welcoming but subdued fire; I sit by the hearth and Firion joins me. "He told me that everyone in this world recognizes his face. I didn't think until now about why we didn't run into any other people on the way here. He must have been purposely avoiding them."

Firion shakes his head. "No, not him. Although apparently the Warrior of Darkness is tied rather closely to the court, I don't think it's a very constant relationship. If indeed his actions would cause a fuss at court, I don't think that his absence is noticeable enough yet to draw attention to him. I mean to say that the Emperor is looking for your brother."

"I bet he is," I say softly. I watch the fire consume the split logs.

"He burned my home," Firion says suddenly in the silence. "All we did was run. We didn't know how to fight, we just wanted to escape. We weren't anyone important, just ordinary townspeople. What kind of person goes out of his way to search miles and miles of forest just to flush out worthless civilians?"

"You're talking about the Emperor."

Firion nods. "I suppose he wanted to make an example of us. His soldiers brought us within an inch of our lives and left us there, bleeding to death for anyone to find."

"Except for Leon. He took Leon," he adds. "Leon was the one who really tried to fight back, the one who wouldn't let the Emperor have his way even for a moment. The next time we saw Leon, he answered directly to the Emperor. I don't know how the Emperor twisted him like that, but…"

Then he shakes his head, and turns and says to me, "I suppose it's true, then. What I heard from Golbez."

I'm shocked. "You know where Golbez is? You've talked to him?"

It's Firion's turn to look surprised. "Of course. You're the one we were worried about. The one who never appeared."

"Well, it's only been a few days. Give me some time to get myself together, here," I joke, but he's not laughing. "Uh, how long have you been here in this world?"

"Months," Firion says simply, and gives me a moment to let it sink in before continuing. While it's only been days for me, everyone else was stuck here for months. Unless they ran into the Warrior of Light, or Jecht or Golbez, then they had no idea why they were here.

"The Emperor was one of the first, which I suppose is how he came by his advantageous position inside this kingdom's court. I appeared with Squall in a place called the Garden, along with Cloud and Onion Knight. It was the strangest thing—the people living there recognized Cloud and Squall as people of their own. We split up to divide our forces, so Squall is still there in the Garden with Onion Knight. I don't know where Cloud is right now; but I heard that he met up with Terra."

"Do you know where Bartz is?" I ask quickly. "What about Cecil? Are they alive?"

"Bartz went looking for you, along with the Warrior of Light, and Jecht and Golbez. The Warrior of Light had to explain a little of what happened, but I didn't know whether to believe them until now. I can feel the Crystal even from here, so I—it was a lot to take in at once, if you know what I mean," Firion explains to me. "But Cecil," he begins, and his voice fades as he stares into the fire.

"I don't like the sound of that," I say warily.

"At best, he's playing a dangerous game, and at worst, he's lost," Firion says quietly. "He never contacted me, but I pray that someone talked to him."

Is this because I left him to fight the Emperor by himself? "What happened?"

"He appeared by the Emperor's side. I don't know if he's trying to spy from the inside, or if something terrible has happened. Like with my friend Leon."

"So what's all this about you and Squall spreading your forces?" I ask. My voice intrudes on the pallor cast over the smoky air.

"You really did take a long time to wake up in this world, didn't you?" Firion says in weary astonishment. "The Emperor needed a position of power from which to conduct his search, so he took control of the court that rules over this world. He's our responsibility, not this world's. So we're doing what we can to help the people. Their king was a good ruler. I say 'was' because I suspect that their king is no longer alive."

"He really wants to find Kuja," I sigh. I'm afraid. I don't know if I can protect Kuja from an entire world. Or from the Emperor. I'd like to say that the Emperor hadn't messed with me with all those sideways comments during my fight against him, with Cecil on my side. But I'd be lying.

"Why did it have to happen? Was Cosmos really, truly, what the Warrior of Light told me she was? Is Kuja? Or was this just some way for you to keep Kuja alive? Are Jecht and Golbez—"

"You can trust them," I interrupt him. "Kuja was too weak to protect the Crystal if anyone wanted to take it from him, and he trusted them. He doesn't trust anyone. Well, he trusted that woman too, but so did the rest of us."

"Did you really believe that you had to kill her yourself?"

Suddenly, it's like he just stabbed me in the gut. "I don't regret what I did. I wanted to save Kuja's life; the Crystal found a way to give me what I wanted and still give all of us a chance to survive. I don't think it would have worked if there wasn't something for the Crystal to latch onto in Kuja's heart in the first place."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to wait until he wakes up to judge that for myself," Firion comments. "Why is he sleeping like that?"

I'm about to answer when I feel it. A sick and resonating, sinking sensation in my heart that, with one look at Firion's face, I know that he feels too. It feels like a light just went out.

"What was that?" we both say at the same time, and then Kuja stirs in his sleep.

"Sephiroth," he murmurs. Then his eyes open wide, as if he's shaken awake by a nightmare. "Cloud!"

"Kuja," I say hurriedly as I turn my back to the fire, kneel by his side. But it's like the time that he got rid of those monsters before we met the Warrior of Darkness; as quickly as he woke up, he fell back asleep. It's not the still, deep sleep that he had been locked into previously. He stirs, agitated.

"Something happened to Cloud," I realize. "Sephiroth did something to Cloud. Something bad. Cloud's… Cloud's gone. You feel it, don't you?"

Firion, wide-eyed, doesn't say anything. He just silently takes it in. I guess I now know where the dark circles under his eyes come from.

That's when the door opens. Our hostess comes in, breathless and panicked. Shantotto stands behind her.

"He just fainted," our hostess tells us.

"The Warrior of Darkness?" I ask as I stand up. Not that there's anybody else that she could mean, but it doesn't make any sense.

Firion stands up too. "I'll bring him in here," he offers. "Might as well make this room the infirmary," he adds lightheartedly, and leaves with our hostess. Shantotto moves back to let him by, but doesn't go with him. She enters the room instead.

I'm pretty sure that any of my normal conversation starters with ladies would be inappropriate, so I just say, "Were you with him?"

She rolls her eyes. "Where else would I have been? Yeah, they were kind of talking nonsense, so I wasn't quite wrapped up in the conversation. But right in the middle of a sentence, he just cries out and falls over for no reason."

Then she walks over to Kuja. She glares down at him like she's standing over him, but really their faces are nearly even, she's so petite. "I heard I came from one of the failure worlds from your Warrior of Light," she says stiffly. "He didn't use those words, but the meaning's obvious. If I'm the failure here, then who's this pathetic-looking young man? Firion tried nonstop to recruit me for your cause. If this is the person I'm supposed to be defending, then I'm leaving."

Well, I don't exactly remember begging for her help. "Sorry you feel that way," I say flatly.

Firion disturbs the violent quiet. The Warrior of Darkness is awake and walking on his own, but isn't in a healthy enough state to begrudge the watchful eye that Firion casts over him.

"He felt it," Firion informs me as the Warrior of Darkness shakily takes a seat on the floor near the fireplace, where Firion had previously sat. "He felt it, like we did, when Cloud left this world; that's what caused him to faint. Did you feel anything, Shantotto?"

"Are you kidding me?" she snaps at him. "I'm glad I didn't. Don't count me in with you lot," she says. "You're all hopeless. Your worlds are gone, and they're not coming back. The fight you were fighting is over now; why you insist on maintaining the bonds from your war is beyond me."

And then without another word, she leaves.

"Kind of sensitive, isn't she?" I joke, but Firion just sighs.

"She's been like that this entire time. If she really felt that way, I wonder why she stayed here with me for so long? But that's her decision. Anyways, that's two we've lost, now. First Tidus, and now Cloud," he says softly.

"Tidus, Cloud?" The Warrior of Darkness looks up curiously. "I knew them. Their counterparts in this world, I mean. Shantotto told me about what the one you call the Emperor has done to my world—this world," he adds almost nonsensically. But I guess that to him, the two sentiments fit together pretty well.

"If it's possible, I'd like to take their places. I'll defend the Crystal with my life. If that means defending him, then I don't have a problem with that. I'd like to become a warrior of Cosmos," he says, and looks at Kuja. "If it's okay with you both, I mean."

Surprisingly, Firion looks to me. I didn't know I had so much of a say in this, so I clear my throat while I think.

"Are we still the warriors of Cosmos?" I ask thoughtfully. "Even though the one we thought of as Cosmos is gone, I still want to fight for what we believed in."

I turn to the Warrior of Darkness. "If you felt Cloud leave, then I think the decision's already been made for us," I say. "So what do we do now?"

"Rest," Firion tells us, "for tonight. We can't stretch ourselves beyond our capabilities. But after that…"

"I want to help you give this world back to its people," the Warrior of Darkness tells him. Don't think I didn't catch how he didn't include himself when he meant 'people.' "But I told Zidane that I would help him wake up his brother. I think it's something that, out of all of us, I'm the only one who knows enough to help, so it would be better for me to go with him."

"Why do you have to go?" Firion asks. "Can't you wake him here? Won't it be safer?"

"We have to find someone. Well, not exactly someone, but it's hard to explain," the Warrior of Darkness says vaguely.

"You said that Bartz and the Warrior of Light are out looking for me, along with Jecht and Golbez," I say to Firion. "Chances are pretty good that we'll run into them, right? We'll be plenty safe after that."

"I wish I had your self-confidence," Firion muses. I wish I did, too.


	42. Serenade of the Doll

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

I'm sorry that I didn't respond to everyone's reviews! Thank you for taking the time to tell me what you think. As always, please enjoy and review!

greyrondo

Chapter Forty-One: Serenade of the Doll

"Cloud," Terra whispers in his absence.

"We have to leave this place. There's nothing here for us now," Cecil says to us. "We should go to the place called the Garden."

Terra looks at him, but doesn't say anything. It's something that they must have discussed before. I'm afraid of the discussions that were held about me without my knowledge.

I'm shaking a little. I want to do something—to move, to escape what just happened. I want to pretend that it wasn't real. But if I did that, there wouldn't be much left of my life for reality.

What happened? Not just with Cloud's disappearance, but with everything, from the beginning.

"Don't run away, Nuage," the girl, Terra, says to me. She looks at me warily, like a small girl would look wide-eyed at some growling dog. Mostly fear, but a tiny fraction of that caring instinct and another of pity.

The 'king's advisor', who I now know as the Emperor from another world, placed me under arrest because I was the other half of a man named Kuja from yet another world. How the two men are connected is beyond me, but the Emperor was looking for a crystal—a crystal I did not know was the very same Crystal that had initially been created as a concentrated source of Light to keep Chaos at bay, but had since developed other abilities too—and somehow the Crystal had fallen into Kuja's possession.

While Sephiroth certainly sought me out for my own sake, I can't help but wonder if the Emperor had wanted to capture me to revive Kuja in the hopes of possessing the Crystal himself. Guessing by the hungry and greedy ache of power in his eyes when the Emperor looked at me, maybe simply owning the power Kuja already possessed was his goal.

I have to stay away from the Warrior of Darkness. I remember that a messenger came in before the Emperor spoke with me, to say that he had possibly found the Crystal. If the Emperor already has the Crystal—meaning Kuja—then he will actively seek me as well. I don't know if I want to kill Kuja to save my own shadowed existence, but I'm not ready to die.

Every fabricated memory of mine refuses to believe that the Warrior of Darkness could answer to the Emperor. But it's not the first time my world has betrayed me. If the Warrior of Darkness seeks me, then he will find me. And if Cecil and Terra cannot defend me against him when he does find me, then the choice whether to live or die will be made for me.

If I can trust Cecil. For someone who was so desperate to facilitate my escape, he certainly pulled off his own escape rather effortlessly.

Is Cecil's friendship a charade? Or is he playing the Emperor for my sake? That doesn't make sense. He has his brother to protect. On the other hand, this isn't a brother I have seen myself. And the Emperor never spoke of the deal that Cecil described.

I want to trust Cecil; I can indirectly trust Terra since Cecil knows her. Cloud certainly cared enough about my safety, but I don't think I can trust that my safety didn't align itself with an ulterior motive. He said that we wouldn't meet again. I can't help but wonder if it wasn't his own disappearance that he was so confident in, but in mine.

But Cecil and Cloud could never be working for the Emperor. They're good people. I'm the one who can't seem to trust anyone anymore.

The Emperor doesn't have to be the only one after me, though. There could be others, others who want me dead so that Kuja can live.

"Cecil," I say quietly. "Why are you here?"

He smiles ruefully. "I understand. Officially, I'm here to bring you to the Emperor. But it's wrong to help him, even more so if he'll sink to the level to threaten my brother. I don't think that my brother would want me to do this for his sake. If possible, I want to eliminate the Emperor."

"So I'm bait."

"You're not 'bait'," Terra insists. "We would like your help, but the reason you're here isn't because we can use you. We want to help you, but you'll have to allow us to do so. That means coming with us to the Garden."

"I don't know," I say unevenly. "I just want some time to think."

"If that's what you need," Terra replies, not unkindly. I smile vaguely, and then find my feet carrying me from the room. I can't be in the same place in which Cloud disappeared. When I find myself outside in the warm sunset air, I stop and sink down into the overgrown weeds.

What is it about order and chaos that immediately associates them with good and evil? Could there not be an inherently evil person who does nothing and therefore preserves the calm, or a good person who preemptively attacks? Who would be upholding order, and who would be spreading chaos?

So many of the people I had read about would have done nothing if they had not been acted upon by others. Garland behaved like a man possessed. Kefka was innocent until science drove him to madness; Sephiroth would not even exist without the curiosity of technological advancement, neither would Kuja without the death throes of Terra. Jecht thought he was doing good's will; Golbez's will was not his own. The Cloud of Darkness acts like a force of her world rather than an individual. Without evil, Exdeath is nothing but a tree. And how much of Ultimecia's actions were simply a reaction against her world?

That left the Emperor. Is it possible that he is the only true being of Chaos? I find it hard to believe, but I learned nothing to disprove it.

And at the same time, can someone of evil use their past as an excuse? Cloud and Sephiroth both endured pain at the hands of their metallic world. There must be a point at which the stress of darkness breaks an individual, but I doubt that point is something identical or even present in all people. If that point of breaking does exist, then it's a weakness, and not a weakness that can be easily strengthened. Perhaps it is about choice.

If nothing but choice determined the Emperor's actions, then that is infinitely worse than if it were because he buckled to the darkness. It means that he could have fought it, but he didn't. He went seeking it.

I was supposed to be convincing myself to go along with Cecil and Terra's ploy to defeat the Emperor, wasn't I? I don't feel better about doing this, but I think that I have to help them now.

It's the least I can do for them since they want to give me a chance to live.


	43. Woman Without a Shadow

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

This chapter brings the Onion Knight (and the Cloud of Darkness) into focus, as well as the roles of order and discord that Nuage wondered about in the last chapter. And for those of you who have been missing Squall, you'd be proud of him!

Please enjoy and review!

greyrondo

Chapter Forty-Two: Woman Without a Shadow

Maybe it would be better if I woke him up now. Maybe it would be better if he didn't remember anything about his life before now. He was pretty screwed up, and part of that was my fault. If he didn't remember, then I wouldn't have to say sorry. I wouldn't have to worry about whether he would accept my apology. Or if he would accept any of this. It'd just be, hey, I'm your little brother and your name's…

He wouldn't even know if we didn't call him Kuja anymore. Because he would be a completely different person.

In this place called the Garden, a rumor flies around that in the frozen outskirts, there's a woman who strangely wears little clothing, despite the cold. And Chaos flocks to her. Which is good, because she draws it away from the town. But the fact that there is someone present who attracts Chaos is a reason in itself for many people to be afraid.

"It's the Cloud of Darkness," Onion Knight explains to me as we stand off to the side from the strange gathering crowd in the town square. And we watch Squall as he gives the crowd orders like a general on a battlefield.

Except they aren't orders to fight. They are orders to rebuild. The rose twilight casts a shadow of glowing life over the grey, short buildings. They look like they'd been put together from scrap, but it's better to see them than the devastation that Kuja and myself had indirectly caused.

I fold my arms across my chest, partially because of the cold and partially because I don't know what to do with my hands since I don't plan on picking anyone's pockets. I left Kuja with the Warrior of Darkness. I trust him.

"I think that if our worlds had made it out alive, we would be doing what Squall is doing right now," the Onion Knight remarked. "Can you imagine it? It wouldn't only be a chance to build again, but it would be an opportunity to reconstruct the wrongs that had led our worlds to destruction. Our worlds would rise again, like a phoenix from the ashes."

"I wouldn't rule that out just yet," I tell him. It's easier to tell someone else to be strong than to tell yourself, but I think it's a good start. "Sure, we might not have the dirt of our worlds under our feet. We can't bring back the people who died. But because we're still alive, our worlds are still alive. Besides, we've got the Crystal, and we've got Cosmos."

The Onion Knight gives me a skeptical face. "Zidane, how exactly is that going to work out?"

"Hey, wanting to conquer a world isn't a far shot from wanting to build a new one, right?" I laugh. "By the way, why is Squall helping them out?"

"Apparently, there was another Squall here in this world. He was a hero to the people who lived here. Not just a hero who could swing a sword, but a hero who could think. But he fell in battle. Our Squall wants to finish what the other Squall started, and rebuild this place."

"Really," I commented. "That's quite a task."

"As if you wouldn't do the same thing, Zidane," Onion Knight tells me. And he's right. It's my job to make sure that as much of my world survives as possible. That means Kuja. So I can't let him forget who he was, or who he wanted to be when he brought the Crystal to the false Cosmos. He's the only part of my world that I have left.

"Hey, Onion Knight. I've got a question for you," I say. "Since that woman out there is the Cloud of Darkness, would you consider making peace with her because she's the only other person from your world left?"

"I don't think I would. But on the other hand, I heard that along with Exdeath, she led Cecil to safety when he sought his older brother in that fragmented world. Is there any substance to that rumor?"

"There is," I answer. "I'm the one they handed Cecil off to. Of course, I didn't stay with Cecil too long, thanks to the Emperor."

At the mention of the Emperor, Onion Knight rolls his eyes. "I can't believe he ended up in the position of power that he did. One would think that with all of the Chaos in this world, the inhabitants would be a little more wary of the unfamiliar."

"I think it makes sense for such an innocent world to be the origin of Chaos. I mean, where does Chaos come from, anyways?" I shrug. "I don't exactly know, but I think that when bad things happen to certain people, people who didn't have any control over it, it creates despair, resentment, hate. I think that's where Chaos comes from."

"What about the Cloud of Darkness, then? Unless—" Onion Knight cut himself off. I watch as a light practically sparks behind his eyes. "She is a product of my world. Taking into account that such bad occurrences create hatred, discord, even war, perhaps she was formed by my world as a way to return everything to the 'darkness'—like night before the sun rises—in case all of those emotions got out of control. That means that my world was gone already; she had nothing to do with it."

"But that would make her an agent of Cosmos," Onion Knight muses. "Don't say anything just yet, hear me out. Her purpose is to restore balance. And what is Cosmos? It's order. Balance. But then why are we fighting?"

"What do you mean, why are we fighting?" I want to know.

"Think about the phrase 'creative chaos.' In the truest sense of the phrase, chaos—impulse, innovation, uncertainty—is needed to create life."

"We've been told that this world actually managed to eradicate Chaos, or at least its presence," I say then. "But without Chaos, it was dying. That's why our worlds were created in the first place, so that we could provide the Chaos to sustain this world."

"The villains of our worlds are the saviors of this one," Onion Knight says.

"My world," I tell him, "had two worlds in it, kind of. One world was normal, Gaia. But the other one was dying. In order to survive, it needed the souls of the other world, and to get those souls, people had to die; there had to be war. Its name was Terra; it's our home. Kuja's and mine, I mean. We were created so that we could increase the flow of souls to Terra. But in the end, we ended up killing Terra."

"So either way, you both are agents of Chaos," Onion Knight realizes. "Because if you were agents of Cosmos, then to maintain order, or the status quo, would have been to cause the death of Gaia. And if that world Terra had never tried to save itself, then it would have been also been acting in the interest of balance because it never would have imposed itself on Gaia. But then it would essentially have committed suicide."

"I guess it would have," I say quietly.

"Personally, I wonder if it's right to be thinking this way. We can't help it, now that we've begun. Maybe this is what was bugging Cloud all this time. Or what made Tidus kill himself," the Onion Knight adds solemnly. "Of course, the thought of consciously obstructing my own thought process is disturbing," he adds. "A phoenix can hardly rise from the ashes and be reborn if there's no fire to form the ashes."

"You're a pretty smart kid, you know that? I'm impressed," I admit.

That makes him laugh. "I guess. A while ago, I would have been flattered. But I think that the most important part about being smart is knowing that you don't know everything."

"I don't know everything. I don't know what's going to happen with Kuja, I don't know what we are all going to do with the rest of our lives, or anything."

"Which I think is a good thing. If we had some set goal already, then we would lack the motivation to come up with new ideas, instead opting to follow along the path. And we would maybe never find the best solution, only the one we previously wanted to find. I think that's why Cosmos had to die, more than even the fact that she didn't have our best interests in mind. I don't mean 'had to die' in such a vulgar sense as I just said it," he corrects himself. "I mean in a broader sense, in the way that… in the way that in order to eat, life has to consume other life. But you can hardly sit there and let yourself die, or there's no point in anything. And that's one thing I don't want to think about."

I have a sudden thought. "That would be order in its worst sense. That would be a lack of existence, that would be nothing. A void. Like what Exdeath seeks. Like when Kuja tried to end everything, to return the world to nothing because wanted to kill himself before Garland's curse did it first."

"So why didn't your world return to nothing?" Onion Knight asks me.

"Well, you should know," I reply. "You fought against someone who wanted to return the world to nothing, didn't you? I didn't want the world to end. Sure, the world wasn't perfect. There would have been wars and fighting and death even without Kuja or Terra. But still, you can't say goodbye to everything just because of a few bad things. Life is worth more than that."

The Onion Knight smiles. "So about the Cloud of Darkness. I was thinking that, as long as she doesn't do anything, there's no reason to bother her."

"You know what? I think that's a good idea," I tell him. And I'm not lying; I don't think it's a bad idea at all. That still leaves Ultimecia, Exdeath, Sephiroth, and the Emperor. But instead of fighting because it's what I thought I was supposed to do, I'm doing it for a reason.

"We have to find Cloud," I say suddenly. "We have to make sure that he's okay."

"I'm sure he can take care of himself for a little while, wherever he is. But if this is the only world, where could he have gone?" the Onion Knight asks.

"I don't know. Maybe he went to a world we can call our own," I wonder. "After I wake up Kuja, I want to go after Cloud. I think he'd like to hear what you said just now. You want to come with?"

The Onion Knight smiles. "That will depend on where Terra goes. And we'll have to let Firion know, as well. We can't just run off impulsively like that."

"Because that would be too chaotic, wouldn't it?" I laugh. I look out over the frozen wastes surrounding this place, and for all I know, I see the Cloud of Darkness. But then I tilt my gaze up towards the sky, and I see that castle. Tomorrow, the Warrior of Darkness had told me earlier. Tomorrow we would go there, and tomorrow I would get Kuja back. And then, maybe, we can move forward and see if Chaos' influence, along with the power of the Crystal, will be enough to start a new world for all of us, wherever that might be.

But if it's possible, I want to cheat Cosmos and Chaos. Because of that other Kuja, wandering around out there. I want to create that new world without sacrificing him in order to do it. I want the phoenix to rise without providing fuel for the fire.


	44. Agnus Dei

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Just in case anyone was somehow missing the Emperor, this is the reunion chapter (although for a 'reunion' chapter, Cloud and Sephiroth are still missing.) Please enjoy and review!

Chapter Forty-Three: Agnus Dei

Terra walks in front of me; Cecil behind. I'm protected, either way. I couldn't have asked for kinder guardians, even if they did come from the most unexpected of places.

My memories tell me that the dark hallways in this haunted mansion hunched over the Garden are nothing new to me, but I know that my eyes are settling on the pipes and twisting passageways for the first time. They don't feel like they belong in this world. They have more in common with the worlds that Cecil and Terra came from, and the other worlds, than the world that I call my own.

This is the place where the Warrior of Darkness earned his name. Perhaps it was this place's uniqueness, this place's taint of darkness, which inspired their worlds. Which indirectly inspired me.

Terra looks over her shoulder and smiles at me reassuringly. She reaches back and finds my hand, and holds it for a moment before the action registers in my mind. I pull away, shocked. But even as I scramble to say something in apology—I don't know what—she just gives a small laugh and looks forward again.

"Almost there," she says. She goes on ahead, and separates herself somewhat from Cecil and myself.

"Who's that?" I hear the murmur float from the top of the landing. I know that voice. Rather, my fabricated memories tell me that I do. It belongs to the Warrior of Darkness. Why would the Warrior of Darkness be here?

Terra calls out Zidane's name at the very same time I stop. And I see him. I don't know exactly who I see first, but it only takes a breath to take in the sight of Zidane carrying a comatose Kuja in his arm. It makes the blood in my veins turn to ice. They stand not four feet away from the Warrior of Darkness.

Zidane's gaze and mine lock. I know that I look very, very afraid. "Brother," I mouth. I can't even summon the force to put my voice behind my words.

Even as he sees me, he shifts Kuja in his arms so that he holds Kuja closer.

Cecil's hand lights on my shoulder. I jump.

He grips my upper arm. "Nuage, it's going to be okay. Don't run," he says softly. Cecil has to coax me up the final steps. When we reach the landing, he doesn't let go of me. Standing there, I can feel myself shaking.

"Hey, Zidane. It's been a while," Cecil says calmly. "Nuage, this is Zidane. Zidane, Nuage. Warrior of Darkness, thanks for helping."

I don't want to get any closer to Kuja. I shrink as far back as I can within the limits of Cecil's grip.

"Nuage," Zidane says quietly, trying out the sound of it. But that's all. What did I expect, really? "Warrior of Darkness, are you entirely sure that's him?"

The Warrior of Darkness nods. "Yeah. His particular kind initially wears white, but it's not hard to change clothes. There are always subtle differences, but except for the hair color, you'd say that's a match, right? Let's just get this over with."

"What?!" I exclaim. I look up at Cecil, who won't look at me. "Cecil? Terra," I plead. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Nuage," Terra says quietly, nearly a whisper. "We're going to help you. Cecil, you can let go of him now."

But then he gets that look in his eye, a look that I've seen before. It was the look of saturated remorse that soaked Kadaj's eyes before I realized that I had been tricked. Cecil releases his grip, and before even I can think to bolt, he flips his spear in front of him and traps me.

"Terra, stand down," he orders. I can feel his heart racing through his armor. "If you even begin to cast a spell, I'll slit his throat. If he dies like this, then Kuja's heart dies with him. Same goes for you, Warrior of Darkness. Bring your weapon here. Place it on the ground, and return to where you're standing now. Zidane, don't move."

"Cecil, what are you doing?" Terra demands.

"Don't speak, Terra!" he cries out. In the silence that follows, the Warrior of Darkness's icy stare levels with Cecil. With an almost painful look of disgust, he wordlessly steps forward and does as Cecil ordered. But he doesn't quite obey him completely; instead of returning to Zidane's side, he plants his feet in front of Zidane and looks at Cecil again, daring him to make any comment.

I hear the first footstep on the stairs. And the next, and the next. They reverberate like bells, but with all of their ominous hollow cries and none of their joy. "My dark knight, you've exceeded my expectations."

As a too-familiar gilded figure enters my peripheral vision, a small cry escapes me. I had gotten everything wrong. I had wasted my time fearing the specter of the Warrior of Darkness. This whole time, it was Cecil who had been working for the Emperor.

The Emperor smiles as his hand falls to my face. I duck away as far as I can, but it's not enough. The metallic cold touch of his gauntlet stings as it brushes against my skin.

"Zidane," he says even as it's me that he focuses his gaze on, "Would you have liked your brother to know the ramifications of his destructive ways? Do you believe that it could have saved him?"

"What, you mean like you don't?" Zidane retorts. "Sure. I think it could have stopped a lot of things from happening if he just made the connection between the people he was hurting and himself. Unlike a certain bastard standing in front of me. Cut the crap, and let Nuage go."

The Emperor pretends that he didn't hear that last sentence. "So if your brother had known fear, he wouldn't have killed so many people in your world? Would you have done it yourself?"

But I heard that last sentence. I had heard the hatred in his voice, I had heard that it was me he wanted to be safe. Me. Nuage. Even if it was just for a moment, that was still more than I expected.

"What are you getting at," Zidane says slowly.

"Were it necessary, would you have brought that understanding of fear upon him yourself?"

"I'd rather it be me than you," Zidane replies, holding Kuja close.

That makes the Emperor laugh. I flinch as his metal-tipped nail brushes the line of my lower lip. "Do you know what it would have taken to grant him that understanding?" the Emperor muses aloud.

"Do you know how far you would have to go to break him, for his sake? How much would you have to hurt him to save him? Poison in the heart cannot be cured by antidote applied to the flesh," he murmurs gently. In the silence, a murmur is as loud as he needs.

"Would you be strong enough to bear the sound of his panic-stricken cries? Would you be that strong for him, so strong that you can hear him scream and still continue? Would you have backed down? Or would a small part of you have enjoyed it? He did tear your world apart, after all. He destroyed it. Took the places and people you had welcomed into your heart and burned it all to the ground… would hearing his screams slake your thirst for justice?"

"Shut up!" Zidane shouts. "You've got my attention, if that's what you wanted! Get to the point!"

The Emperor just chuckles and shakes his head. "Let me tell you, it is quite something to hear him scream. It's because you know that he would never give you the pleasure of hearing him, except under most desperate agony, that makes the sound of his cries so delightfully painful."

When Zidane speaks again, his voice is hollow. "What exactly did you do to him?"

"Why, nothing more than help him understand fear… see Chaos' fires from a different point of view."

I have to do something. If I can just escape, then maybe that will turn the tables. But I know that I can't afford a maybe. I can't run.

I got what I wanted. I found my brother. Even though he doesn't know me, I want to protect him. But that's something I can't do. I can only give someone else the chance to do it for me.

If I'm a part of Kuja, then maybe it won't be so bad for him to wake up again. I'm a coward, it's true, and I jump at the slightest thing. The smallest detail worries me to the fraught tipping point of anxiety. I wonder if Kuja will be any stronger than I am. I hope he is.

"Stop it," I tell the Emperor. "That's enough."

"It speaks," he muses. "Little Nuage, do you have something to say to me?"

"No," I answer. "I have something to say to Zidane. So don't talk for once."

That makes him laugh, but I can tell he's annoyed. Maybe I remind him of Kuja. "Zidane, I really wanted to meet you. I wanted to kill Kuja and take his place because I thought that I deserved a brother more than he did. I even made a deal with Sephiroth so that I could learn how to end his life and keep mine. I didn't want to be anything like Kuja. But I just now realized that my desire to live made me exactly like him. And if I'm like him, then he has to be something like me. And if I'd give my life to save you, then he…"

I shake my head. "Well, that's nothing you don't already know."

I'm not going to die. I'm just going to sleep, in the hope that when I wake up, I can be stronger. I close my eyes, and just as darkness fills my vision, I realize that I didn't even get to see Terra's smile one last time. It helped me more than she knew.

That's all right. I'll have a chance when I open my eyes, won't I?


	45. Quando Me'n Vo

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

This is it! This chapter concludes part two of three. I'll be taking a short break before I continue with chapter forty-five. As always, please enjoy and review!

~greyrondo

Chapter Forty-Four: Quando Me'n Vo

"Nuage!" I cry out. But it's too late. Too late to tell him that I would have worked to find a way so that they could both live. So that Nuage wouldn't have to die.

I had never known Nuage; it would be a lie to pretend otherwise, that somehow in those few seconds before Cecil stabbed us in the back we had come to be close. But I didn't need to know him. I didn't need a reason to try to save his life.

Nuage falls limp in Cecil's locked arms just as Kuja suddenly disappears from mine. Nuage's black hair turns pale as moonlight; his ragged clothes fill out into Kuja's jacket and skirt. His tail disappears.

"Cecil," I say with both warning and desperation in shaking my voice. "Cecil, you don't want to do this."

"I know what I'm doing, Zidane," he responds coldly. Then he withdraws his spear.

"Don't touch him!" I explode as the Emperor catches Kuja around his shoulders and pulls him in flush against the gilded armor covering his chest.

"Where's the harm in it?" The Emperor says with a smirk in his eyes but a mockingly blank face. "I already have once before. In fact, the only thing I haven't yet done to him is kill him, and I have no intention of that. Wake up, Kuja," he says quietly. "Wake up to me and show me your fear again. Show me your subservience, show me your surrendered will. Your relinquished pride, your violated—"

My breath catches in my throat.

"Zidane?" the Emperor says casually as he looks up. "Is something the matter?"

I'd say so. Something is definitely the matter.

"I'll kill you," I seethe. "I'll rip you apart."

I can't look at Kuja now, lying there in the Emperor's arms, without seeing it. The thought of it makes me sick, like acidic lava boiling up inside of me and if I don't get rid of it, it'll take over my limbs and I'll strangle someone.

Because this is why he was sleeping that first time, when I came to him and lied to him. When all I cared about was getting what I wanted—tricking him into killing me—during a time when he might have been considering if he wouldn't feel better if he slept for forever.

Back then, that had been my one chance. My chance to help him, to fix everything, without it coming to the disaster that it had. And look at what I'd done to him instead.

"Cecil," the Emperor says lightly. And without even so much as a command, Cecil steps in between the Emperor and myself and the Warrior of Darkness, and settles into an aggressive defending stance.

"Cecil, are you telling me you'd defend the man who raped my brother?"

He flinches, but doesn't drop back. "What would you do in my place, Zidane?" he replies.

"I don't know, Cecil," I retort. "What would you do in mine?"

He shakes his head. "Zidane, I'm sorry."

"Golbez would not be proud of you right now," I say, my voice deathly quiet. I want to let Cecil know that Golbez had protected Kuja, but then Kuja stirs and we're all at a loss for words.

I would be lying if I said that Kuja awoke all soft and sluggish. His eyes snap open with wide-eyed emptiness, and they barely have time to reflect the gold of the Emperor's armor before a white brilliant light floods the room and blinds all of us.

There is a scream. The Emperor's scream. I didn't think that was something I would ever hear.

When the spots stop dancing in front of my eyes and the shadows stop swimming, the Emperor is gone. It would have been too convenient for him to be dead, but I don't even honestly care whether he is alive or not at this moment. He's gone. That's all that matters.

Cecil is standing there in shock. I think he's surprised that he's still alive. If he's surprised now, he'll be even more surprised in a few minutes. If he's still alive by then, that is.

I punch him hard, right on the jaw.

"Cecil, what were you thinking?!" I demand. My knuckles are still stinging when I turn away from him. I don't want an answer, because I'm afraid that I understand why he did it.

The real person I wanted to hit was the Emperor. I wanted to kill him. But I couldn't. This is all too much to take in at once. I just need to do things one step at a time, so I look at Kuja, sitting there shell-shocked on the floor.

He isn't moving; his face is a blank canvas. "Kuja?" I call to him.

There were a thousand different things he could have said in that instant. But he didn't say anything. He didn't even move, as if he didn't think I was talking to him. His gaze leaves my face, lights on Cecil's and everyone else's, and then he doesn't make eye contact with anyone.

Of course it would be this way. If I were him, what could I say? How could I possibly react?

"Kuja," I say again, and take a few cautious steps towards him. Right after, I wish I hadn't been so hesitant. I don't want anything from the past to carry over like that.

He frowns. "Are you talking to me?"

I feel like he slapped me. "Yeah," I say softly. "Of course I am."

Then he shakes his head. And I understand that I've made a mistake. He wasn't trying to be petty when he asked if I was talking to him. It wasn't guilt or anything dark that haunted that first silence.

Kuja's voice is bare of any theatrical affectations that he turned into habit. His gaze, when he looks at everyone, is empty, blank in place of judgment.

"No," he insists. "I don't know who that is. Or who you are. Any of you."


	46. Twilight of the Gods

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

All right, so my short break turned into this really long 'where do I want this to go before it reaches the desired destination?' staring contest with Microsoft Word. I'm the kind of writer who gets the final scene down early and then works out the details in the middle, fiddling with the ending as I go. As always, please enjoy, and please review!

~greyrondo

**Twilight of the Gods**

Silence.

"We can't afford to believe that the Emperor is gone. Personally, I believe that he's biding his time, waiting for an opportunity… well, an opportunity just like this one. I feel silly reminding you to be vigilant, Firion. Squall. As soon as the Warrior of Light, Golbez, and Jecht return, I'll go. And I'll come back with Cloud, if he's still alive. Have I… forgotten anything?"

Cecil steps forward, his Dark Knight's armored boots lightly scuffing the ice-grey dirt. He hasn't worn in Paladin armor since we encountered the Emperor. "Cosmos, I was wondering if I could accompany you. To the new world," he added softly. His gaze never rose above the ground.

"Cecil, you're needed here. And… I'm sure that your brother will want to see you again. You haven't spoken to him since before all of you came to this world, have you?"

"No," Cecil answers as he steps down. "I guess you're right."

"Cosmos," Onion Knight says then, "are you sure it's smart to go by yourself?"

'Cosmos' smiles, and closes his eyes and bows his head slightly. "I will be no more alone in the new world than I am here."

Seriously. If I had ever heard Kuja say something like that sincerely before now, I would have been dreaming. Or, more likely, having a seriously warped nightmare. Not that this cold twilight world, the Garden, isn't a nightmare in its own twisted sort of way.

He's a nightmare in white cutaway robes, marginally more appropriate than what he wore when he was still himself. His eyes are wide with amnesia and the absence of his make-up. He could be Cecil's and Golbez's cousin, he looks so comparatively ordinary.

As we break apart and meander off, Terra catches his arm. "Onion Knight isn't wrong," I hear her tell him. "My misgivings aren't because I doubt your ability to defend yourself, but at the same time, you've never used the light of the Crystal since the day that you woke up..." she says, her voice fading off.

"Terra, I'll be fine, trust me," that imitation says in his fake plain voice. It's Kuja's voice, in the way that it sounds at least. But it's not him. It doesn't have his soul. "I guess that doesn't really help, does it?"

And then he laughs. Kuja didn't ever laugh, not with a carefree laugh like that.

I really should have said something. A passing comment, a greeting, a single word. Since he woke up, I mean. Since he told me that he didn't know who I was. But I've been mute to him ever since he looked at me with that confused face.

Right after he woke up, I left Terra to take care of him; as soon as it became clear that he didn't remember who we were, she practically flew to his side. I thought I noticed a little bit of something going on between Terra and Nuage, but I think it's just because he reminds her of herself, when she woke up with only her name in her mind. But Kuja didn't even get that.

At least, he didn't get the right name. He thinks his name is Cosmos. That's just perfect, right?

"Zidane?" Cecil calls to me when they're out of earshot. It wouldn't be right to say that Cecil and I haven't gotten along so well since that day. Now that I've been given time to step back, I can see why he did what he did. But there's a distance between us, a rocky wasteland.

"Hey, Cecil. What is it?"

Cecil cleared his throat. "Well, Squall and I were talking. And we think it would be good if you talked to him. Not to Squall, I mean," Cecil clarified. "To Cosmos. Even as I say that, I admit that I'm afraid to face my brother when he returns. But you should do better than me."

I look at him for a long time. "Cecil, I know you mean well. But I'm not talking to him because I don't think it's a good idea. I just can't bring myself to do it."

"It wouldn't have to be anything personal," Cecil insisted. "If your goal is to keep him in the dark about his past self, then it only arouses suspicion when you make an exception and don't speak to him alone, especially considering who he is now. Squall thinks you're being rude. And if Squall thinks that, well then—"

"Cecil, listen to me. I never had a normal conversation with Kuja when he was alive. Never. No 'how's it going', no 'looks like it's going to rain', nothing. Why the hell should that change just because Cosmos is here instead of him?"

"Zidane, what does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything! If I talk to Cosmos now, it's like telling Kuja that I couldn't have been bothered to talk to him while he was still alive, and now that he doesn't remember anything, it's just easier to chat him up now, so why not?"

"Zidane, that doesn't make any sense, and you know it. Just think about what I've said, and consider it, please. If I can face my brother, knowing how much he tried to protect Kuja from the Emperor, then you should at least say hello to yours every once in a while."

"See you later, Cecil," I said pointedly.

"Promise me, then, that if he ever initiates a conversation with you, that you'll carry it through. I'm not leaving until I get the answer I want."

"Fine, Cecil, I promise," I say impatiently. It's an easy promise to make, even though keeping it's another story. But this is a conversation I don't want other people to hear.

He smiled wearily, and we parted, leaving me to stare at absolutely nothing. Which makes me anxious, so I find something quickly: Onion Knight, retreating down the path into the frigid wilderness surrounding the Garden, getting smaller and smaller until the glint of his armor could be mistaken for dying light on the icy stone.

He's going to visit her. Now that she's cut off ties with the rest of the warriors of Chaos, he goes to her to talk about the world that they once shared, and of goodness knows what else. I think that Kuja's transformation into Cosmos motivated the Onion Knight to attempt to understand Chaos instead of just continuing to brandish a sword in its direction.

If he can make peace with the Cloud of Darkness, then what's wrong with me? I only have to make peace with myself, after all. It's not fair. Kuja is safe, and I'm conveniently guilt-free in his eyes because if I started babbling on about the Iifa Tree and Terra, he would think I was insane.

I got off way too easy.

Cecil's trying so hard to make it up to me. It's not like Cecil knew what the Emperor had done. It's not like I knew. But it just makes the memory of the last thing I said to Kuja, those words that the false Cosmos forced through me with my voice, hurt even more. I couldn't even save him from one of the people he had wanted to die for.

Was that really his motive? The Crystal didn't pick him because it was bored. Was he truly that selfless? Or did he just want to die that badly? Jecht and Golbez had said that he dragged himself to the false Cosmos without any intention of surviving afterwards.

But first the Crystal sustained his life, and now it might or might not have something to do with his missing memories. And he's never used the light of the Crystal since the time when he woke up. There has to be something else going on, but I don't know what it is.

Maybe finding out more about the Crystal itself is the key to all of this. For that, I needed to talk to the Warrior of Darkness, who seems just as thrown off by Kuja's lost memories as everyone else.

That's when I start to pay attention to where I'm going, and I realize that my feet have betrayed me and carried me to the ledge overseeing the makeshift grey town, the place where 'Cosmos' goes to be left alone with his thoughts, whatever thoughts someone with a blank slate for a memory can possess.

He stands there with his back to me, his silver hair tossed in the cold wind. I think he knows that I'm there, because he brings his hand up to his eyes and shields them for a moment before turning around to face me. It's a subtle motion, but I got used to noticing the details when Kuja was still Kuja.

Kuja—no, Cosmos—had been crying. That pause was just a way to give himself enough time to wipe away the tears before turning around. I suppose the last thing that a god of light wants his warriors to see is that he's troubled, no matter what the reason. Kuja would have hidden them for more insecure reasons.

"Forgive me," he says then. And for a moment, I forget who's speaking to me.

"What are you talking about?" I whisper.

"I'm sure that Cloud is safe," he adds, and then I break my promise to Cecil. I get out of there faster than if I'd stolen something.

The best thing I can do for myself right now is resign myself to a fact that, in another time and another life, I would have been perfectly happy to accept: Kuja is dead.


	47. Fortuna Imperiatrix Mundi

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

The origins of the Crystal and the reasons for the Warrior of Darkness' insistence on protecting it are explained in this chapter. Squall also takes on a more important role as Ultimecia's disappearance seems more and more suspicious. The black clothes that Squall mentions are actually Zidane's alternate costume (I think he looks good in them!) Please enjoy, and please review!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Forty-Six: Fortuna Imperiatrix Mundi**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Squall asked me.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I need to get out of this place for a while," I answer. "Cecil told me what you two were talking about," I say, and then pause for a second. "That sounded way more confrontational than I meant it."

"He actually talked to you about it? Good, that means he's not doing as bad as he used to. You're not the only one I worry about," Squall mused. "What," he says when I give him a half-amused look, "you think you can start wearing black and no one will notice? What's it like, mourning someone who's still walking around?"

"It's not the greatest," I tell him.

"Figured," Squall replies. "But on the bright side, I guess it's good that you're not talking to him now anyways, since Cosmos would never let us go off on our own, searching for Ultimecia like this. But it's too quiet, I can't take it anymore. I don't believe that she's just disappeared; she's been even more secretive than the Emperor."

"It's not like you to be this curious. You guys used to make fun of me and Bartz for going off like idiots—"

And I fall quiet.

"We'll find Bartz," Squall assures me. "C'mon, he's used to wandering around hopelessly. Of course, he's also used to getting into trouble pretty hopelessly, too. That doesn't make you feel any better, does it?" Squall adds.

I shrug. "So do you know where we're going?" As I say this, the town gets smaller and smaller behind us on the path.

"I don't have the vaguest idea. I figured if I wandered away enough from the others, she'll show up. It's really stupid and careless, but it's all I've got. Then again, if she doesn't show up, it means she's working on something more important. Awkwardly speaking of Bartz, Exdeath has been kind of quiet too."

"Maybe he went the same way as the Cloud of Darkness," I suggest. "But I don't really believe that. He's more—chaotic—than she is."

"I guess I don't have to warn you to stay on guard," Squall says with a halfhearted laugh. "If you're up for it, I was thinking of going to that place where Terra and Cecil—and Cloud—found that double of your brother. They mentioned that there were some records there that the Origin World kept. Records about us," he clarifies solemnly. "But only if you're up for it."

I don't even need time to think it over. "Let's go for it," I tell him. But then we suddenly stop on the path. The Warrior of Darkness stands in front of us, blocking the way. I didn't even see him show up, but he's not the Warrior of Darkness for nothing.

"What are you guys doing?" he wants to know. "Aren't you supposed to be protecting the Garden, Squall?"

"I am," Squall answers immediately. "I'm taking an inevitable battle away from civilians."

The Warrior of Darkness looks at him for a long moment. "I'm supposed to say something along the lines of 'your fight is our fight' right here, aren't I? I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing, even though I don't like the idea of someone else but me doing that. He doesn't know, does he…?"

Squall shakes his head. "No, Cosmos doesn't know. And I'd rather that didn't change any time soon," he adds pointedly.

"That much I can't agree with," the Warrior of Darkness tells him. "Zidane, you're as quiet as usual. And you don't have a good reason to be leaving the Garden, not right now."

"Yeah I do," I reply. "I need to get out of here for a bit. We're going to that town that's always in twilight. Cecil and Terra said there are records there about our worlds. You should come too. Then there would be more of us, and it wouldn't be so dangerous."

"No way I'm leaving the Crystal."

He says that so strongly that something I'd been curious about for a long time comes back to me. "Say, Warrior of Darkness. What's your deal with the Crystal, anyways? I still haven't forgotten that you attacked us in that empty town."

"Do you know something about the Crystal?" Squall asks then. "Something that we'd find out about if we went and looked at those records?

"No," the Warrior of Darkness says immediately. "I mean, not really, not like—yeah, I'm lying to the both of you," he amends. "I know how the Crystal was formed, but it's nothing that you'd find in those records. As incriminating as those records are, she—the first Cosmos—knew better than to write that down. But that's not something I'm telling you."

"Why not?" Squall demands. "Shouldn't I say something like 'your fight is our fight' right now? You want to defend the Crystal, our motives are the same—" he begins, but then his eyes darken. "Unless they aren't. Why did you help Zidane come here? What's in it for you?"

"The safety of the Crystal," the Warrior of Darkness says, taking a wary step back. "I didn't lie."

"Keeping something from us is the same as telling a lie," Squall insists. He shrugs his gunblade off his shoulders and holds it casually in front of him.

The Warrior of Darkness laughs bitterly. "Are you kidding me? You think you can take me on?"

"What," I tell him, "you don't think we can fight as well as you can? As someone from the Origin World, you mean? Your world created us, and while we don't know how much you were involved, you sure do. You call yourself the Warrior of Darkness even though you've got a real name, but I don't think it's because you're a bad person. You call yourself that because you feel guilty about something. Come on, you already know about me. Do you think I'm really going to judge you that badly?"

"It's not that—" the Warrior of Darkness begins. "It's just that—"

He sighs, and seems to shrink into himself a little. "The Crystal is my best friend's heart."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Squall nearly breathes, he says it so quietly.

"It's all my fault. All of this," the Warrior of Darkness insists. "I was supposed to do what he did, take up this blade—" he says and holds out his hand as his strange weapon appears, "—take up this blade and fight the darkness of Chaos. But I gave in to the darkness, and he had to take my place. He had to come and save me, but he couldn't get rid of the darkness inside of me."

"When he finally beat back the darkness and our fragmented worlds rejoined, it was a world that I couldn't live in. It wasn't just our world that had begun to die from the stagnation of order, it was me. I was literally dying. So he gave up his heart to form the Crystal, so that the one who drew your worlds into creation could stand up against the darkness. He killed himself so I could live."

Squall is the first to gather his words together. "So we were created to keep you alive. All of the chaos brought upon our worlds was for that same purpose, as well as the events that instigated the actions of Chaos' followers. And now it's come back to haunt the Origin World. Our fight has become yours; our will has become that which drives this world."

"Pretty much," the Warrior of Darkness says quietly. "Only this really isn't my world any longer. My world is dead. The future of this world belongs to all of you now. I know that it's not the world that you were born in. It's not the world that you miss, and it's not the world that you dream about. But it's yours now, and it's your future to shape if you can save it."

Squall slings his gunblade across his shoulders. "If this is my world, then I'm going to go save it from Ultimecia, just like I would have done anyways. And you're going to let me do it. If Zidane wants to come along, then you're not going to stop him, either. Does that sound good to you?"

The Warrior of Darkness smiles and shrugs. "Sure."

"Hey," I say then. "Your story. Do you think you could tell it to Cosmos? I mean, I think it's something he'd like to hear."

If my brother is really going to be Cosmos, then it's no different from being a ruler. He has to know about all of his subjects: the good, the bad, and the ones who don't know where they're supposed to stand.

I remember that he once wanted to be a god. He's got his wish, but he can't remember that he made it in the first place.


	48. Metamorphoses

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Squall, Zidane, and the Warrior of Darkness can't go gallivanting off in search of Ultimecia without leaving something behind in the Garden. Please enjoy, and please review!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Metamorphoses**

The Warrior of Light has returned. The proper word is returned, even though I have never met him before. Jecht and Golbez, warriors who once fought for Chaos, are here now as well. With their presence here, I should have already left for the new world. But as I had suspected, the Emperor was waiting for me to make any sort of move.

"So it's 'Cosmos' now…?"

The golden-scaled hand of the Emperor reaches out to me. I teleport out of his range, and look down at the town cast in frigid grey dusk as I brace myself against the railing of the balcony.

"The person you speak to is indeed Cosmos, and has only known that identity. If you wish to speak to someone else, you're standing before the wrong person, I'm afraid," I vaguely smile in his direction. With Garland gone and the Emperor so enthusiastic to take up his mantle, I treat him now as I would Chaos itself.

What I'm doing is unwise, but necessary. My warriors know nothing about this meeting, and even Terra has no reason to suspect that I would go all the way up to the haunted towers where I first awoke in order to converse with the darkness. He needs to believe that I will be here, not wandering off in search of Cloud.

"Is it the Crystal that you seek?" I ask him plainly. "Our surrender? Neither is available for negotiation, and if you've simply come here to attempt to intimidate me, then… I'm sure there are better things you could do with your time."

"How adorable, someone's taught you to speak without a barbed tongue. Who is it that had the chance to tame you before me? I'm jealous," he smirks, and sets his staff against the railing, although far enough from me so that it's only a vague threat. But such things are only to be expected, I'm sure. "Was it your brother?"

"My brother?" I echo, and then pause for a moment. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. Although we come from different worlds, I consider anyone who walks the same path as me to be my family of sorts. I have no brother, although depending on who succeeds as the avatar of Chaos, that individual would be my closest kin."

"If Kuja's in there, he just gagged at the thought of such ridiculous, heartfelt nonsense coming out of his mouth. That's the name of your vessel," he adds as he catches the look of confusion on my face. "What, did you think that the Crystal had just magically stitched up a doll for you to walk around in, Cosmos? So what's it like, using the body of Chaos' own?"

To hesitate after such a remark would give him the upper hand in this conversation, so I don't. "I'm afraid that the answer you seek isn't one I can provide. It appears that I've overestimated you, Emperor. Let me get to the point, since you apparently have trouble doing so: this world is not yours, and it is not mine. My battle is against the malevolent darkness that plagues this world because it is the source of my warriors' pain. If you wish to support and behave as a conduit for the darkness of this world, then I will have no choice but to turn my back on someone who came from my warriors' worlds and treat you no different from the rest of the faceless shadows. I'm sure you were a good ruler once, Emperor, but it's up to you to decide whether that time is permanently gone."

"It disgusts me and is an affront to the memory of the vessel you stole for such naïve hope to be spoken aloud in his voice," he says with force that I honestly didn't expect.

"What," I begin slowly, "was this vessel to you? A comrade in arms who abandoned Chaos for the light? Perhaps even a friend who, in your eyes, went astray? I ask because I know nothing."

That makes him laugh. "Kuja was something to be used, something that can be used still. Not in the same way you use him, but in the same degree. Cosmos, have you tried playing with the magic at your fingertips, the magic that isn't granted to you by the light of the Crystal? Now that I think about it," the Emperor adds, "you should thank me; I'm the reason that you have a vessel with which to play soldiers. If I hadn't broken him, you would not be able to stand before me right now with a serene imbecile's expression of peace on your face."

"I'm sure that you give yourself too much credit," I tell him. "You confuse me for Chaos. If what you say is true, that this is a vessel of someone who existed before me and indeed existed on your side of our battle, then I could not exist within this vessel without… Kuja's?... permission. You know where I stand in regards to you and what forces you have amassed, Emperor. I encourage you to think deeply upon it."

He slips his staff into his hand once more, and nods his head. "Forgive me, I'll need time to adjust to treating you as Cosmos. I await the day that the soul within your vessel overpowers you. He has a rather entertaining rebellious streak."

"And I await the day that you see the light within your soul," I say as he disappears into the darkness.

It would be really, truly amazing if I knew what I was doing. But of course, I don't. I'm an actor on a self-imposed stage with neither script nor director, and without even the vaguest sense of how the play is going to end. All for the sake of both distancing myself from and connecting with the audience.

My voice wants to slip into affectation, my eyes want to glitter with hard-edged but thin-skinned malice. My heart goes to dark places that are, I'm sure, better left in the shadows. I am not worthy of being a god, much less a god of light. Even placed against some of those who follow Chaos, I do not glimmer in comparison.

When I woke up and the light of the Crystal faded from my eyes along with the ring of the Emperor's scream, I stared wide-eyed in wonder as one of my warriors, a wiry blond boy, struck another, a silver-haired knight.

Kuja, the boy called me. It's a name that suggests a history beyond my role as Cosmos. It's better if I don't remember who I am, for myself and for the people who are, I'm sure, as unsettled by their god as I am by their attention and devotion. It's best for everyone this way.

So I'm pretending.

The Emperor is gone, and the rage that I trapped inside during the entire conversation extinguishes itself, leaving me worn out. I close my eyes, and my magic returns me to the town below.

There are things that I am expected not to know, like the faces that hours ago presented themselves before me so that I may finally match the names—Jecht, Golbez, Warrior of Light—to beings who truly exist. Then there are things I am expected to know, such as the current whereabouts of Squall, Zidane, and the Warrior of Darkness.

The Crystal resonates with them, particularly with the Warrior of Darkness. It does not provide their motives, only assurance that they are still alive and fairly well, although strained by the darkness of Chaos.

For whatever reason that Squall and the Warrior of Darkness set off, I'm sure it has little to do with why Zidane chose to leave.

The theory was that if I'm a different person, then Zidane will have to treat me as such. It's perfect; I'm the brother he always wanted, and his hate for me is conveniently erased. I honestly didn't care what the others thought about me as long as those two goals were achieved.

But the warriors of Cosmos's willingness to embrace my presence—whether as a 'cured' follower of Chaos, a manifestation of Cosmos that happened to have my face, or even as Zidane's amnesiac brother-turned-god—only accentuated Zidane's cold silence.

And when I stood in front of the two that I have come to trust the most, Jecht and Golbez, there was nothing that I could say.

If only I could tell my past self that dreamt of being a god that I would succeed. I'm sure that being a god without an identity, without a land, and without more than a small group of weary followers would be somewhat less than appealing.

It's in the middle of that thought that I stop walking and pause behind a low, crumbling wall, and slide down so that I'm sitting on my knees. And I listen with very mortal uncertainty.

"What the hell happened," Jecht growls at me, even though his conversation is with Golbez. They don't even know that I'm here, that I can hear them. Am I so desperate for their company that I'll eavesdrop, knowing it will be the only time when they speak of me as Kuja?

"At least he lives. That's more than we hoped for him."

Jecht snorts. "Like you can say it's really him that's living out of that body."

"What do you want Zidane to do, Jecht," Golbez sighs. "I'm sure he's already at his limit. We may have spent this entire time scouring the Origin World for either Kuja or that strange other, but Zidane physically carried Kuja's sleeping body all the way here in what must have been hopes of reviving him."

What?

"So you're saying that to build up that kid's hopes and then maybe bring them down again if we fail would break his spirit. But what if there's something we can do? Like you said, Zidane's already hit rock-bottom. I think he could use a little hope."

"Jecht, Kuja isn't your son."

"Excuse me?" Jecht says slowly.

Golbez hesitates before continuing. "The light will reveal the truth of Kuja's situation in time. But to push such a realization upon Zidane because of desperation—"

"I know perfectly well what I'm doing," Jecht snarls. "I'm not stupid. I know that my son's gone—hell, my son was gone long before he died, Golbez. Tidus hated me. Maybe I saw the hate in Kuja and just made the connection somehow. Made him a substitute son because my son wouldn't look at me with even that shred of trust that Kuja did."

I never would have heard something like that from Garland—he never would have coveted my trust. He would have never understood how difficult it was for others to earn it because of that initial father's betrayal. I'm no longer angry, I'm just empty.

Some god I am.

"I don't believe that your son hated you, Jecht. Cecil told me that Tidus didn't speak poorly of you when he was still… with them."

"Really? Well then, that's the best thing I've heard all day," Jecht says in a voice that fails to successfully sound tough.

Jecht's and Golbez's worry makes me feel inadequate. If I wanted to, right now, I could waltz between them and tell them that what I'm doing is nothing more than what I was doing when we first met, but the purpose of the charade and the role I've chosen are changed.

I imagine that Jecht would smack me. Honestly speaking, I'd entirely deserve it. Because I didn't know until now that Zidane had taken care of my vessel during my time as a soulless doll. I had assumed that—I hadn't assumed anything, come to think of it. Which means I shouldn't assume anything starting now.

"I'm just stating that you shouldn't subvert your understanding of Zidane's wishes with wishes that are, in fact, your own," Golbez says then to Jecht.

I used to hate Golbez because of how clearly he sees the truth. Now it simply exhausts me. Even though his advice is meant for Jecht, it easily applies to me as well.

Zidane isn't the only one who factors into this equation: the balance of power within the warriors of Cosmos, everything depends on them honestly believing that I am dead and the one who leads them is the essence of the Crystal inside a vessel. Cosmos.

Responsibility was so much lighter when I only pretended to carry it.

Soundlessly, I leave Jecht and Golbez to their musings about a subject that no longer concerns me. And as I walk away from the Garden towards a world that may or may not contain a still-living Cloud, I know perfectly well that responsibility can be a rather convenient excuse when it wants to be.


	49. When Stride the Warriors of the Storm

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Ultimecia's definitely been quiet lately. Zidane and Squall encounter her in this chapter, and Zidane hears word of Bartz's whereabouts. Please enjoy, and please review!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Forty-Eight: When Stride the Warriors of the Storm**

We spent the first day or so in silence. Squall needed to think, and I wanted to let him go ahead and do it. And that was perfectly fine with me, because I needed to think too, and I needed to think differently than I'd been thinking for a long time.

The interesting thing was, I didn't really think about Kuja for the most part. He was tucked in the back of my mind the whole time, sure, but I just let him sit there instead of worrying over him.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the world I wasn't going to get back, and about the world I was in right now. Squall's silence was a good silence to be with, the kind of reassuring silence that made me start to think that everything might turn out some sort of okay.

And I wondered how much good it would do me to look into those files and books about the creation of our worlds. It would be interesting to know, honestly, but it would be too easy to get sucked into the darkness of loss and alienation. I carry my world with me in my memories, and as long as I have those memories, then it will never seem like my world ever existed. It will always be, in some way, alive.

It was sometime after I'd settled myself on those thoughts that Squall started talking. It was everything that he had always started to say, only to cut himself off and turn away with a set and carefully neutral expression on his face.

He didn't cut himself off this time. It seemed like he'd had the same train of thought as I did, and he was talking through his memories as a way of checking up on them, making sure that they were all sorted right.

Now I know that he's only a year older than me, and that battle aged him too far beyond his years. I know where that scar came from, and I know who Rinoa was to him.

When it comes down to it, Squall really isn't all that bad. He kind of has Cloud's sense of humor, but it's easier to understand as humor coming from Squall. I guess it's easier to think of a laugh coming from a rough expression than a sad one.

"I don't know what kind of weird chocobos you had, but from what the others have told me, you couldn't get any other world's chocobos to do that if you tried—"

He stops himself midsentence, but it doesn't sound quite right. I ignore the suburbs of terra cotta roofs cast in blood orange twilight, and turn full around and look at him. He isn't moving.

My blades are in my hands; I don't even have to think about it. But in the waiting silence, there is something I do think about: why me?

"Good evening, Zidane," Ultimecia says, nodding her head in my direction as she moves between me and Squall. "How are you doing?"

I scowl. "Great. It's warm, not too humid… you know, all that stuff. Squall's doing pretty good too. I don't usually talk for him, but you understand with the circumstances and all. How about you?"

That makes her smile. "Not so well, I'm afraid. If you don't mind such an imposition, I have something I'd like to ask of you."

I watch her as she turns around and thoughtfully strokes Squall's cheek. He's frozen in a look of wary distaste.

"Can I borrow him? Bartz needs a friend."

I blink, and I have a snarl on my face without remembering how it got there. I look at the singed black arcs along the ground, and I realize with slow horror that it had just been my turn to stand there frozen.

Dazed, I take a step closer, and I see blood. It had to be Squall's, or he'd be here right now. They had fought, and Squall had lost.

Ultimecia has Squall and, if I can believe her, Bartz. I think I have to believe her about Bartz too, because if that had been a lie, she would have taunted me for longer.

What is with the Origin World? It looks so peaceful and happy that it's hard to imagine the manifestations of Chaos crawling about it. This isn't a place where blood can be shed; this isn't a place where anyone should despair about where their friends are, or what's going to happen to them, or anything else.

I do the only thing I can do: I keep walking. I walk into town, into the town where Terra and Cecil and Cloud found that other Kuja, Nuage. They had momentarily lost him to Chaos too—to Sephiroth—but they had found him again.

But not without losing Cloud. Would Squall be the price of defeating Ultimecia? And Bartz, Exdeath? Not if I had anything to do about it, but Squall must have been my lucky charm—I can't think now.

Telling myself it's just shock, the shock of seeing blood and being helpless and hopeless, I sit down on one of the black, curlicued iron benches, and take a long look around me. There isn't anyone on this little side street, but I can hear the babble of people, Origin World people. Except that last statement isn't quite right.

There are families here. Kids who grew up playing with weapons not because their parents told them bedtime stories about knights in shining armor and princesses, but because they were being raised to fight. Kind of like how my life would have been, I'm sure, if Kuja hadn't intervened.

Like the Warrior of Darkness said, this is my world now. These are my people. Even if they weren't, that wouldn't matter. I don't need for them to be from my world, or for me to personally know them, for me to help them. If I have the ability and the knowledge, then it's what I want to do.

It's a stupid plan to go around asking random people if they've seen a witch with too much cleavage waltzing around, but it's not like I have to worry about the news getting to Ultimecia that I'm looking for her—that much should be obvious.

I'm not used to going on nothing. Kuja always left some weird semblance of a clue to be exploited, almost as if a small part of him wanted me to stop him before he went too far.

Squall was right to notice that Ultimecia had been quiet for too long. Maybe something happened. Maybe something broke her, and now she's doing one last, really desperate thing because nothing else makes sense.

If that's true, then I need to stop wasting time, and I need help fast. I look up.

"Ku—Cosmos?"


	50. Lyric Suite

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Squall has grown on me. He really has.

(I think it's because, as a cosplayer, the uniform option made me want to play as him during some of story mode in Dissidia, and then… it all went downhill from there.)

Please read and let me know what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Forty-Nine: Lyric Suite**

Before I spoke with the Emperor, I had a short conversation with the Warrior of Darkness. Saying that it was short implies that nothing significant came out of it, but that's hardly the truth.

"All right, game's up. I know you're lying."

When I turned around, I thought I had a convincing look of confusion on my face. "Sorry, Warrior of Darkness, what are you talking about?"

He just shook his head. "I know how this world works. There is no way that you could have come out of that without your memories intact, Kuja. Not you, not with the Crystal helping you."

"I—"

"Look, I don't care. Sometimes you feel like you need to hide. I did it. But I came clean. You'll eventually have to do the same. Don't wait too long."

Lately, I've come to believe that being left alone with my thoughts is perhaps the stupidest idea I could ever come up with. The more I think about the prospect of going to a new world—alone—I become frightened just like I had been as a child, ordered by Garland to go to the surface of Gaia without so much as a smile in reassurance.

It would have been better to bring Jecht and Golbez, to swallow my pride and the belief that so much depends on the façade I maintain as Cosmos. It would have been nice for Terra to come along too, though for a reason I haven't been able to name quite yet.

I'm standing outside the abandoned mansion, my resolve wavering, when it happens. A sharp pain in my heart like a knife twisted on its side, and before I know it, I'm on my knees with my hands gripping the iron bars of the gate so tight my already pale knuckles are white.

There's a name for that pain. Squall.

Blessing and cursing the Crystal at the same time, I scramble to my feet. For it to have been that obvious, he must be relatively close.

Wait a moment—what's he doing, being this close? He should be back in the Garden.

I mull over the remembrance of the pain as I alternate between teleporting and running, playing a child's game of hot and cold with possibly Squall's life hanging in the balance. It had been dominated by Squall, but with a lingering trace of cheaply perfumed darkness—Ultimecia—and despair that would have to come from somebody else besides Squall. Zidane.

What are Zidane and Squall doing here? Pursuing Ultimecia by themselves? That's exactly the stupid sort of heroic move that I'd been worried one of the warriors of Cosmos would pull from the day I woke up. And here I am, running after them like I'm some idiotic hero too.

I find charred pavement and blood. Any mage could tell that the burn marks are from both magic and weaponry; definitely Squall. Surprisingly, none of Zidane's Terran magic lingers, but Ultimecia's time magic does. She must have set Zidane aside and then done whatever—and then left.

Neither Squall nor Zidane are in sight; could Squall have been severely injured, and then disappeared with Zidane to get help?

My guess is that I'm lighter than Squall, and therefore Zidane would have difficulty carrying him. It would have made more sense to leave Squall and bring help to him; with his gunblade, Squall could defend himself fairly well as long as he remained conscious.

But that would have resulted in some scattering of blood, and isn't any besides in this one place. Which meant that—

I close my eyes for a moment and think. It would be best to find Zidane, as much as I'd rather drop in, miraculously discover that dumb luck has preserved Squall and he's in Zidane's company, and then get back to staring indecisively at the abandoned mansion.

Except that would never work.

When I finally find him, he's sitting looking either desolate or decisive—it's rather hard to tell nowadays—and he calls out to me before I can, but he sounds confused. Then again, I suppose I did just appear out of nowhere.

He should be used to it by now; I've been doing it for Gaia knows how long.

"Squall's gone," we both say in unison.

He blinks, and then smiles wearily. "Yeah."

"What were you both doing here," I demand more than ask, because I'm too furious to form a question. This is not becoming of a god of order. But I don't quite care.

"It was Squall's idea. I should have stopped him. But I didn't, and I went along with it, so now I'm going to fix it. And for me to be able to fix it, I need to…"

He doesn't continue, but then he figures out that my glare isn't going to go away until he gives me a good end to that sentence.

Zidane looks at me, and sighs with all the conviction of a man doomed to the gallows. "Alright," he says in agreement with absolutely nothing that I can hear. "Squall's in serious trouble, and in order to be able to save him, I need to get something off my mind. Cosmos, I'm going to ask you a huge favor."

He sits there anxiously like I'm meant to cue his next line, whatever it is. Am I supposed to say something here?

After a few more moments of pointedly uncomfortable silence, he clears his throat. "Um, yeah. I guess you want to know what it is first. That's reasonable," he adds, his eyes oddly bright. "Can you chill here for a little bit? I'm not going to talk to you, I'm going to talk at you. You don't have to pay attention, you don't even have to look at me. I'm just going to say some stuff that you won't understand, and I'm not going to explain it to you. You okay with that?"

I blink twice, and stare at him for even longer.

"…sure," I answer him.

He looks taken back. "Wow, didn't expect you to say 'yes'. Give me a second," he tells me, and then takes another deep breath, another sigh. And he speaks my name. My real name.

"I lied to you. I did rescue you from the Iifa Tree, and I did abandon you that night because I was afraid to be the one who saved your life. And then Garnet died, and I lied because I wanted to make you angry. I wanted you to kill me. I wasn't really in a good place in my head—forget I said that. I don't want to make excuses; I want to apologize. I'm sorry I thought you killed the black mages and the Genomes, and Garnet. And…"

"I know what the Emperor did to you, and I wish I could have known soon enough to help you instead of hurt you. You're my brother and I promised myself that I'd bring you back alive and I failed," he says and his last words choke back tears. "I couldn't save you from anything. You did a lot of things that were bad, but you gave us hope for freedom. Life didn't treat you very well, at all. You deserved better than what it handed you, and I couldn't even give you that. I'm sorry."

I'm finding it difficult to breathe, myself. "…what?" I whisper.

He bites back a sob, and then shakes his head fervently. When he looks up at me, he's got on a stupid-looking smile that doesn't fool anyone. "Yeah, that about wraps it up. I owe you one, Cosmos," he says, and then gets up. "Let's go get Squall."

When he's a few steps away, I realize that a few steps ago would have been that 'time to come clean' that the Warrior of Darkness had talked about.

"Zidane?"

I don't think saying his name has ever been easier. For the first time, when I say it, I don't hear Garland's echo. But he pretends he doesn't even hear me. Time to come clean.

"You moron!" I yell at him as I stand up.

Zidane responds a little too quickly. He really should have more self-respect than that, but who am I to argue?

"…Kuja?" he says in disbelief as he looks at me.

And just like that, I fall under a spell of silence more powerful than I could ever cast. I flutter with some quip or another in my head, but in the end, the fact that I'm speechless is enough to convince him of the truth.

"It is you," he says, his voice pale with wonder.

"It wasn't your job to make sure I had a good life," are the words I find. Frankly, I'm disappointed at what I come up with, but maybe I would do well to speak without composing a speech beforehand for once.

He stares at me, and then laughs and rolls his eyes. "Sorry, but you've got it all wrong. The fact that I noticed makes me immediately responsible for you. Too bad, you've got someone watching your back. Suck it up and get over it."

I smile. A little.

"You can't tell me to 'suck it up', I'm Cosmos."

"You can't pull rank on me; you're not even wearing pants."

Is it pointless now to hide my tail? Garland is gone, and all those who know me know that like my brother, I have a tail to distinguish myself from the humans, Lunarians, half-Espers, and whatever else composes our small group of survivors. It's not something that makes me alien, it's a part of myself that I need to accept, like so many other things. Like my memories. And my brother.


	51. Acht Stücke

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

I'm sure you amazing readers have noticed that each chapter title references a piece of music (blame Kuja, you know how he is). A little background info on this one: it's German for 'Eight Pieces'. It's played solo (so no piano accompaniment), and at times, has a particularly panicked mood.

Please enjoy, and please tell me what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty: Acht Stücke**

"Would it be too much to ask if I were to request that you stay out of this?" Kuja asks me softly.

"You already know the answer to that question."

"But you don't know the reasoning behind it."

"Explain."

We look kind of ridiculous, sitting in the summer grass like this. Nothing to see here, folks, just a god and his warrior from another world, talking strategy. Have a nice day. Kuja and I didn't say anything important to each other between that alleyway and the deserted mansion, and while at first it was natural, it soon took on an ulterior motive that I somehow caught onto: don't speak anymore about Squall, not when we're surrounded by shadows that may or may not have listening ears waiting in their darkness.

"Ultimecia and I don't get along very well. At all."

"What, you mean more than usual?" I want to know. I didn't ever believe he made friends with anyone else except for Jecht and Golbez, but I don't think Kuja said that just to state the obvious.

"You might or might not have noticed that she's oddly possessive of Squall. When we were still in the fragmented worlds, Squall might have told you that we had a bit of a skirmish in which I said some things to Squall that, if I'm correct, inadvertently had a positive effect on his interaction with the rest of you. Ultimecia got a little upset that I had interfered with him, but she didn't do much about it, mostly thanks to the Emperor."

As he says those last four syllables, he keeps them even. Impartial. But I guess he thinks I don't notice the way his once-manicured nails curl under into a loose fist, half-hidden in the grass.

"Anyways," he continues then, "If that's how Ultimecia reacted then to my slight interference, you can imagine that she must have not appreciated the course of events that led me to becoming Cosmos."

"Because now Squall's your warrior. He came out here so that he could take care of Ultimecia for you, you know," I tell Kuja. "I didn't put the pieces together until now, but I don't think he did it just because you're Cosmos. I think it's his way of thanking you… thanking Kuja, I mean."

At that, Kuja sighs in aggravation and momentarily covers his eyes with his hand. "What did I do?! I threatened him. I insulted him. This is how he repays me? By trying to help me? I thought he was one of the smarter ones. You lot are all idiots."

"Hey, is that coming from the guy who wanted to go off on his own to an entirely unfamiliar world looking for Cloud?"

"Chalk it up to prolonged exposure to all of you. The point is, you don't have anything to do with what's going on with Squall, so don't blame yourself. Because I know that if you blame yourself, you're going to want to go do something about it. However, also I know that I'm wasting my breath asking you to go back to the Garden, so…"

"So let's go get Squall."

"It's not that simple! We need to figure out if she took Squall because of Squall, or because of me, or something entirely unrelated. Since she also has Bartz and made a huge display out of telling you about it, I'm going to guess that it's some combination of bait and self-interest."

"So… let's just go. It's worked for me so far."

"Do you know how many times you almost died? Just on Gaia and Terra alone? No, we're not just going after Ultimecia; that's obviously what she wants or she just would have taken him and left you there without so much as a 'hello'."

I stare at him for a long time.

"What?" he snaps.

"You're… really different," I say quietly then. "It didn't quite hit me until now."

"Did you expect me to tell you to go find her lair or hideout or whatever tacky place she's set up shop, and then send you in as some sort of sacrificial scout?"

"No!" I say quickly. "But, uh… never mind. Okay, fine, we'll do this your way. So what's the plan?"

"I don't have one that doesn't involve doing what I just described, except with me instead of you."

"Are you familiar with the word 'hypocrite'?"

He's on the verge of saying something in response. I know he is. But he doesn't, so I ask him about and he shakes his head.

Then he tells me, "For a moment there, I was going to say, 'can you spell 'hypocrite?', but I decided not to. So you really brought that one on yourself."

Kuja looks up at the twilight sky. After a moment of silence, he impulsively lies back on the grass, and closes his eyes and sighs in frustration. "We don't have the time or the resources to take a logical approach towards this, do we?"

"Got that right."

"Someone's doing something stupid…" he murmurs. "Besides us," he clarifies as he opens his eyes. "While Chaos makes it difficult to feel Squall and Bartz unless they're in pain or such, I can sometimes get twinges of instances of spectacular heroic idiocy, and I'm getting one right now."

"So you could tell when Squall and I snuck off?"

Kuja gets a weird look on his face. "I must have been distracted…" he says vaguely.

"By what?"

I can count in minutes—it hasn't even been more than two hours—since I got my brother back. His tail is curled lazily around his thigh; but as the silence ticks by, it unfurls and lays limply in the grass. It hasn't been long, but already know what that gesture means.

"Kuja…"

"It's something I had to do! I have responsibilities, and especially now that Garland is gone, we can't afford to pretend that everything's over. Garland was complacent, but the Emperor is hungry and insane. But he's not interested in Cosmos."

I don't know whether to be angry or to be scared. A sickening pit, curling with fire around the edges, settles deep into my stomach. "You didn't," I say, those two words as heavy as boulders.

Kuja turns over so that he's on his side. But he turns so that he's facing me, not so that I'm talking to his back. "This might not be a reflection of the current dynamics, but Ultimecia and the Emperor were allied."

"That's not important right now!" I practically shout, even though he's maybe two feet away from me. "That just means that since you're Kuja, and the Emperor's after Kuja, then what better way to get at you than with Ultimecia's help?"

"If that's the case, then she would have gone after you—" Kuja starts, but then falls silent. Because we both know that she wouldn't have gone after me. No one would believe that I'm worth that much to Kuja, and vice-versa.

Then he smiles. "My, I wonder what he intends to do with a god of light…"

"Don't even joke about that. I mean it."

No. The real shocker is that no one would believe that Kuja's worth so little to himself. While I wouldn't give up this hour or so of conversation for anything, I can't help but imagine that it wouldn't hurt for a teeny bit of Kuja's old sense of self-preservation to have survived.

"Kuja, even if you weren't the one carrying around the Crystal—"I begin, but I never get to finish.

"Don't say it. You know it's not true," he murmurs, and then shifts a little so that he looks like he could drop off into sleep any moment. "Golbez and Jecht wouldn't have helped me escape if I didn't have the Crystal. They didn't know at the time, but I'm sure that they must have somehow sensed it. I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for the Crystal—and no one told me that you were the one to take care of my vessel when I was split in two."

"I didn't want you to know," I say as I mindlessly pluck a strand of grass at its base and pull it in half, so that I end up with two pieces. But there's no way to really put them back together again like they were.

"I didn't even want you to know you were my brother. I just wanted to be anonymous to you, just another one of the warriors of Cosmos."

"That's hardly fair, Zidane, I wanted to be the anonymous one," Kuja chuckles. "Give you a better brother."

"Yeah, because soulless dolls are great for conversation," I say and roll my eyes. "I think you've got it backwards, by the way. You changed and then the Crystal happened, not the other way around."

"I don't think so. There's a lot that happened that I—maybe I'll tell you some day. Some of it goes like this: I was collecting the fragments of the Crystal long before the Crystal would have willingly come to me. Both Garland and the Emperor wanted me to possess the complete Crystal, but for their own reasons. I let the Emperor help me—Garland's help was against my will, but he saved my life at the expense of his own. If it had gone any other way, I don't believe I'd be here as Cosmos today."

"So when you say that I changed and then the Crystal decided on me—I don't believe it. I think I… I think I broke and the Crystal thought that if I had enough help putting the pieces back together again, then I might not be the worst person in the world to carry it around for goodness knows how long."

I decide then to keep the Warrior of Darkness' story about the origins of the Crystal to myself for a little bit longer. That's the Warrior of Darkness' story to tell, not mine. Another reason to come out of all of this alive. Although depending on the Crystal, maybe it's a story that Kuja already knows.

"Are you…tired? I've noticed that you aren't exactly energetic, but that's no different from how you were, so I didn't think anything of it."

"Zidane," Kuja says quietly, "It's just further proof that I'm not exactly compatible with the Crystal. The light wears me down… I've spend so much of my life in the darkness. Don't look at me like I'm going to die," he adds sharply.

"I'll come up with a better idea," I say then. "So you don't freak out or anything. Take a nap."

He doesn't even pretend to argue.

As I sit there, staring at the mansion which houses a gate to another world, I don't come up with any better plans. Just a lot of frightening reasons why we need to make them after all.


	52. Eroica

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

I definitely meant to post this last night along with everything else. I've sort of settled into a rhythm of updating all of my fics at the same time (with some exceptions, since some have a lot of chapters already written and edited and some need serious editing before anyone else can see them!) Please enjoy and tell me what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty-One: Eroica**

It's not a dream; it's more of a sensation: darkness pushing down on the pulses of my wrists and the bony joints of my hips, guilty pain throbbing through me like heartbreak.

No. I'm through with you. I'm finished with you wreaking havoc on my life, forcing me into hatred and jealousy for others when it's you I need to blame, Chaos. My forced purpose came to an end a long, long time ago, and in its absence, I demand the chance to be free. I want it. I want to live so much.

It has a face. I try to wake up again and again, and my limbs won't move. I'm afraid. Very, very afraid. Panicked.

Suddenly, it's pushed off me, and those freeing hands grab my shoulders and seize me from my paralysis.

"Zidane…?" I breathe as I wince, since even the weak sunset momentarily hurts my eyes as I transition from sleep into waking. He wants to fret over me and I let him; I allow myself to come to my senses as he brushes my feathers out of my face.

As he helps me sit up, he says something. Something odd about me perhaps going back to the Garden. I must still be dreaming.

And maybe because I'm still half-asleep, something stunning comes to me and instead of keeping the thought to myself, as I should, I say it aloud. It's nothing new, but I only previously possessed the two halves without any clue as to the fact that they so neatly fit together.

"You can't stand being alone, can you?" I ask him quietly. "And that's why you wanted to die…"

That's the beginning of it. Zidane makes some fragmented attempt to respond, but I don't want him to. I don't want him to interrupt my train of thought, so I stand up. A little too fast, it turns out; I sway as I settle into balance.

"Ultimecia… doesn't want to die," I muse. "She wants to live, even more than I ever wanted to. It's almost the same, but it's so very different—"

"Kuja, what the hell are you rambling about?" Zidane wants to know. He sounds a little wounded; I don't want to voice an apology but I offer my hand to help him stand as well.

If it's something I've done before, I don't remember. All my attempts to keep my thoughts from pausing are thwarted with the shocked face that Zidane makes as he takes my hand.

"Don't even start," I say quickly.

"Sorry for waking you up. But I just—it freaks me out to hear you beg for mercy. I mean—keep going with what you were saying before."

I close my eyes for a moment. Embarrassment and gratitude had never felt so much at ease at the same time, before.

"Her appetite for life is unconditional; she doesn't care about the quality of her life, so long as she possesses it solely in her hands. When I heard that I was going to die, it was because of something inside of me. So I felt that there was nothing I could do; the only option left to me was to end everything along with me. But Ultimecia—it's like some basic animal drive sharpened to obsessive abstraction. She doesn't care that she'll be alone, because… because that which threatened her must have come from the outside. So—she trusts no one. She takes pleasure in using people who potentially pose a threat to her, finds it more amusing than any joke she's ever heard. Like I did."

"So…" Zidane stared at me blankly. I don't think he's an idiot. He knows what I'm going to say, but he wants to let me follow it through just in case there's something either of us leaves out.

"So she isn't the Emperor's ally," I conclude. "She isn't anyone's ally."

"You know, there was a time when we tried to figure out the dynamics of power between the warriors of Chaos. We placed Ultimecia beneath the Emperor. But—we were totally wrong, weren't we? She had us fooled."

"She had me fooled too," I tell him. "If anything, she's his puppet master. Not through an overbearing command, because that wouldn't work. Not with him. She let him do whatever he wanted for the most part. Just a comment or a whisper here and there, to influence him and make him believe that her ideas were his all along, for the big picture…while serving her own interests in the shadows…"

It was when I had thought all was lost. Ultimecia had come to me, claiming to make an offer on the Emperor's behalf. But then it became clear that is was her offer alone, an offer that only the Crystal had been able to best. She had promised me her personal intervention, the mingling of her mastery over time and my genes, so that I would no longer need to fear death. And then she allowed me to steal her fragment of the Crystal.

Brilliant, as much as it pains me to admit it. Either way, she would have achieved something from our encounter, had I refused her or not.

I momentarily turn my back on him and take a few steps away, crushing the summer grass beneath me as I do. It isn't until Zidane calls me out on it that I know exactly why I don't look him in the eye after that conclusion.

"You're talking about how you influenced Queen Brahne, aren't you?" Zidane wants to know. Then he sighs. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

I subtly shake my head. No, he's exactly correct. And that makes this easier and harder than I thought: I'm dealing with myself, the person that I once was. I can't evoke the person that I used to be; I'm frightened of my past self, or at least frightened of the parts that shame doesn't dominate.

This is why I never liked Ultimecia; she was an unflattering mirror to my every move, action, motive.

"We may know her motives, but her methods are something outside our awareness," I tell Zidane.

He chuckles harshly. "Wow, you've been such a bright ray of sunshine this whole time and you've never told me? Thanks for holding out, jerk."

I smirk. "So you knew about our world's Crystal the whole time? And about how powerful a Trance could become, if intermingled with the souls of thousands and thousands?"

That makes him scowl. "Point taken."

But Ultimecia and my former self are not exactly the same; while I believed I had all the time in the world, she lives in constant fear that someone, something will cut her time short.

So while I would think nothing of squandering my time with some twisted plot involving Squall and Bartz that had little to do with the big picture other than to break the spirit of the opposition, Ultimecia would be much more efficient with her time.

She feels vulnerable. That makes her as dangerous as I was after Garland had pulled the veil from my eyes, even if she doesn't possess the raw power that I did. Maybe it makes her worse; she'll have to compensate for the lack of power with something far, far more damaging.

Squall was the key to something.

"Hey," Zidane says then. "Did you ever hear about Ultimecia and Cosmos—the other Cosmos, I mean?"

I frown. "No, I didn't."

"Back in the fragmented worlds, right after Terra and the Onion Knight and myself found Squall, Ultimecia came before us and said that she was on the fake Cosmos' side, and the fake Cosmos approved of the whole thing. It was—it was right when the fake Cosmos asked me to kill you."

"She asked you to kill me…?" I breathe. Of course I should have suspected something like that. But it hurts to hear it, because I know that at least a small part of Zidane's thinking agreed.

I'm not hurt by Zidane's thoughts; I'm hurt at the reminder that I had not once, but twice turned into something that wouldn't have minded if my life had been ended at that moment.

What sort of warped place in my mind had I stumbled upon, that I thought that wanting to die was an appropriate, logical reaction to my obsession with life?

"I don't think that Ultimecia was trying to infiltrate our ranks," Zidane kept talking as if my mind hadn't wandered off. Which it shouldn't have. I owed him and everyone else more focus than that. "I think she was trying to send a message. That she was on the inside. That she knew what was going on more than we did. So that thing she knows but we don't? I bet a hundred gil that she's banking on something involving the way that the Origin World works."

Without even thinking, I place my hand over my heart, where the warmth of the Crystal radiates. Or maybe that's just my own living, breathing body. The two aren't quite distinguishable anymore. It's trying to tell me something.

"We can't do this alone, can we?" I muse.

"Damn straight you can't, Cosmos."

Zidane and I look through the wrought iron of the gate at the same time. And judging by Zidane's smile, I'm guessing that he noticed my warriors awhile before I did, the stupid, sneaky little pickpocket.

So this was what I had sensed when I felt that someone, somewhere was doing something incredibly idiotic.

Jecht was the one who spoke. After hearing his voice, I expected Golbez too and perhaps the Warrior of Light, and a small part of me, Terra. I didn't know that I would lock my gaze with Cecil too, and Firion and the Onion Knight, and the Warrior of Darkness.

Even as they stood together like that, their ranks looked so small. I couldn't help but fill in the spaces with those who were gone.

This could be Zidane, I thought with immediate regret. He could be standing in my place—if not necessarily the bearer of the Crystal, here in this perspective—filling in those missing faces, and mine would be amongst them.

"Kuja," I reply. "It's Kuja, old man."

"What did you call me?!" Jecht growled, but it was with a smile.

I owe my warriors at least this much. They deserve to know exactly who it is they're fighting for, and they deserve the chance to decide whether I'm worth their time or not. None of us know how much more we have.


	53. Rejected

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for being so amazing and sticking by Zidane and Kuja. Reviewers, thank you for being so thorough and vocal with me, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. I know it's been quite some time since my last update, particularly since I didn't say beforehand that I was going to take a break. Well, the updates are on vacation, but the writing certainly isn't. Basically, some things happened (or will happen?) during Kuja's final confrontation with the Emperor that relied heavily on what would happen between the last updated chapter and then, so those chapters are getting revised to make more sense. In the meantime, below are four rejected scenes, whether because they would have had seriously weird implications, they logistically made things difficult from a 'who is where, with who else, and when?' point, or I just decided that I must have been incredibly sleep-deprived when I was writing.

The first scene is from way early on, after Kuja lost it in the fragmented worlds and right after Ultimecia appeared alongside Cosmos/Namine. Originally, they were going to join forces with the Emperor and Ultimecia, but that would have forced Ultimecia's hand far too early in the plot. The second scene is an idea I'd prefer to explore with an emphasis on Golbez sometime in the future, and the third scene was written when I had the Warrior of Light, Jecht and Golbez join Zidane in the Origin World when Kuja was unconscious, but their presence would have gotten in the way of the effect of Kuja's realization that Zidane had carried him through the Origin World (originally, it was Cecil who wound up in FFXIII world, which was changed for obvious reasons). The fourth scene takes place sometime around where the current narrative is… maybe. I wrote it a long time ago, when it was really, really late at night…

Please enjoy!

~greyrondo

* * *

Maybe we just didn't get the whole story. Kuja, for all that he is, is still a liar. And he's a pretty good actor—maybe the Warrior of Light didn't get the right information that time he overheard them talking.

"Did you do anything to my brother?"

The Emperor frowns. "It's true that he did hate me, and rather visibly so. I asked him, time after time, to work with me against Garland. I don't know how that could have upset him as much as it apparently did."

I'm not so sure just yet. "Are you sure you didn't do anything to him?"

The Emperor shakes his head. "Was his argument with Garland highly personal? That might have been it. He might have taken my offer for help as an insult to his abilities."

"Well, he does have his pride, I'll give you that," I say. "Thanks."

The Emperor smiles weakly. "For what, I'm not certain. But all the same, you're very welcome."

As we part ways for the moment, I think then that I would give anything to have Firion here with me. But he's not, so I have to remember what Firion said about the Emperor, how he said it, and what he would think about the exchange I just had.

It occurs to me with a little sadness that I don't know Firion well enough to do this. Which means I can't say that I know the Emperor nearly well enough to tell if he's lying to me.

So it comes down to it: who do I trust more, the Warrior of Light who wouldn't say a single word as to why he was skulking around Garland's castle, or the Emperor who I just saw with my own eyes working productively with Cosmos?

In that situation, the fact that I trust Cosmos gets in the way of whether or not I can trust the Emperor.

What does the Emperor have to gain from stealing the Crystal away from Kuja? It's obvious: any follower of Chaos wouldn't want such a volatile reincarnation of Chaos to lead him. It's obvious that the Chaos that has overtaken Kuja doesn't even have the same goals as the Chaos that controlled Garland. You could even say that the current manifestation of Chaos has left all of its old followers behind. Abandoned.

What does Cosmos have to gain from stealing the Crystal away from Kuja? That's even more obvious: she gets the Crystal, then we all get to go home.

But what's not so obvious is why the Emperor would so willingly agree to giving Cosmos the Crystal. It would be a trick anyone could spot a mile off, except that they both agreed to let me be the one to deal with the person who used to be Kuja.

'Person' is the wrong word. 'Thing' is better.

* * *

"Is he getting too heavy?" Golbez asks as I grimace, shifting Kuja's weight before I set him down.

I shake my head. "No, he's not heavy, his shoulder armor just digs in awkwardly."

"He does wear armor in strange places, doesn't he…" Golbez remarks.

I frown. "Yeah, you're right. Except for the shoulders, none of it's really effective."

"No, it's certainly effective, depending on what you're guarding against." And the Golbez goes away, leaving me thinking.

As I think, Kuja moves around. Not enough to make me shift my grip again, but enough to notice that he's uneasy.

"Hey, Kuja, it's okay," I mutter, and run my knuckles against the fabric of his sleeve, just for reassurance. But my knuckles brush up against that armor too quick, and suddenly Golbez makes sense.

Kuja wears armor on his shoulders, belted over his heart, and wrapped around his hands, making it pretty much impossible to sling an arm around his shoulders, hold his hand, or embrace him without getting a cold sting of metal. So even though he shows off the rest of his body, when it comes to anything meaningful, it's 'look, don't touch.'

So what's Golbez guarding against?

* * *

"So this is the new Cosmos," Ultimecia purred. "Hmm, doesn't seem like he's capable of much. But I suppose that's what he was like when I first saw him, so I suppose nothing has really changed. And by the way, I just wanted to let you know that I watched as the Emperor raped your brother. I know what he sounds like when he begs for mercy. Would you guess that he screamed for your help, Zidane? Think about that before you tell people that he's your all-powerful god of order and light."

…what?

She leaves; the damage is done. I don't move.

I feel the Warrior of Light's hand on my shoulder. "Come on, let's go. She's lying to us, Zidane," he assures me quietly.

Of course. Of course she's lying to us. That would be just the underhanded thing to do, to suggest something unforgivable like that with Kuja unable to disprove her lies. I sigh in relief, and I let go of the millions of image that my mind held in that silent second: all the times I joked about Kuja's looks, never wondering once if they could ever get him into trouble.

Golbez clears his throat. "Warrior, she's not lying," he says, his voice a blank slate. Jecht frowns and looks at him with a skeptical eye.

"What do you mean, she's not lying?" he demands. "Wait just a second here, do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Jecht, you remember what he acted like when we took him with us, shaking like a leaf and crying out like we were torturing him, not trying to heal him."

"That doesn't mean anything," Jecht insists, shaking his head. "That didn't happen. Kuja's a drama queen and he was just being…"

I give up on listening to them; I'm too busy putting the pieces together. I walk over to where Golbez has laid Kuja down against the tree trunk and I pick him up; it's my turn to carry him. But then I just sit right back down.

And I'm speechless because all the pieces fit together. Kuja sleeping on the ground in the Crystal World; that wasn't him being lazy at all. He was sleeping to escape. And maybe that's what he's doing now, except we can't wake him up until we find…something.

He moves a little like he's been doing lately; does that mean we're getting close? With a sleepy murmur, he shifts and his arm wraps around my neck. It's like he's assuring _me_, telling _me _that it's okay.

No. Sorry, Kuja. It's not okay. Not okay at all.

I hear Jecht clear his throat, and my world breaks open again as I look up. "Gil for your thoughts?" Jecht insists.

He asked. "I'm thinking that Kuja had better not wake up and kill the Emperor for this, because I'd rather it be me."

"Damn," Jecht nods. "Uh, well, just wanted to let you know that we've got company," and he shrugs and looks behind him. I see three people: Cloud and Terra. And…

And another Kuja?

* * *

Did I ever have a 'normal' conversation with anyone? Ever? If I asked someone about the weather, or how their family was doing, then it was because I wanted something out of them. Whenever I spoke to one of Chaos' followers, it was because I needed to evaluate them. When they spoke to me, I spent the entire time wishing they would stop. Even the time I spend with Jecht and Golbez, carrying the Crystal, was spent mostly listening to them talk or sleeping.

That can't be true. Surely… but no, my memory serves me far better than I let on. I've never had a normal conversation with anyone. I've never asked someone how they were because I actually cared. I've never shared in anyone's casual confidences, at least not with anything in the way of altruistic intentions.

I just picture it now

'Hi, Golbez.'

'Good afternoon. Something I can do for you?'

'Oh, ah, no, not really. I just wanted to talk.'

'What about, particularly?'

'Nothing in particular.'

'Oh. Ah… all right, then.'

'…'

'…'

All right, perhaps Golbez was not the best choice to imagine that scenario with. But I know that I can hold a perfectly good, ordinary conversation, without any ulterior motives, with anyone.

…wouldn't talking to them to prove a point count as an ulterior motive?

Yes.

No, I can't allow myself to overthink this. I'm going to find someone and become interested in their lives, no matter what.

…and now I'm a stalker. Goodness, there's no proper way out of this, is there?


	54. Adoration of the Earth

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Kuja's has a long overdue heart-to-heart with Jecht, Golbez, and the Warrior of Light, especially since they can help him fill in the gaps as to just what happened to him while he was asleep. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

**Chapter Fifty-Two: Adoration of the Earth**

"I'm sorry."

"You already said that," Jecht tells me. Golbez nods agreeably. The Warrior of Light smiles sheepishly.

"I know," I add. I want to say it ten, fifteen, a hundred more times. I heard a conversation that I was not meant to hear, and now I know too much about just how much I've worried Jecht.

Worry. It's not new to me, not anymore. But that was when I didn't have to sit less than five feet away from the man who wanted to do a better job of being my father than Garland, and perhaps was hoping that I'd be a more loving son.

When did I turn back into a child?

"We lost track of you for a long time, didn't we," Jecht says then. "Golbez and I found the Warrior of Light before we found you. Long before we found you. We had some pretty interesting conversations, to say the least. About light and darkness, and order and chaos. I'd like to think we taught each other some pretty important lessons, but none of that would have happened if we were just wandering around aimlessly. Hell, we might have even come to fighting."

Judging by the look on the Warrior of Light's face, Jecht isn't telling the whole truth. "That might have happened occasionally," Golbez whispers to me as he placed his hand on my shoulder.

"What was that? You say something?" Jecht calls over.

Golbez just smiles and shakes his head. "Nothing, nothing at all." It's strange to be able to see Golbez's face; he really does look like Cecil. Which means that they both look not unlike me.

And it wasn't just the helmet he had discarded; half of his armor is now gone, so that he looks more alive than automated. It suits him better.

"Hey, look at you," Jecht says then, "putting up with physical contact without exploding into a ball of fluff. There's hope for you yet."

"Jecht—" Golbez warns.

"It's all right," I say before Golbez can continue. I even laugh afterwards, even though it's more of a conscious addition than natural. Progress is progress. "You think Zidane would still be in one piece otherwise?"

And then there's something more serious I want to address. "I see that your son's sword made it into your hands," I say to Jecht, who's carrying, pound for pound, even more weaponry than Firion.

"Cecil held onto it," Golbez tells me. "He said that he didn't know why, but he had a feeling that it was one way of keeping Tidus amongst their—our—numbers. And then it just made the most sense to give it to Jecht."

"I'm glad," I reply.

"If you don't mind," the Warrior of Light begins, "I'd like for you to tell me why you decided to bring the Crystal to the false Cosmos. Garland told me that—well, he told me everything. It's the one thing I've always wanted to ask you. You never seemed like the type to sacrifice your life."

"I'm not," I insist firmly. "Especially not now. I was just…"

Well, there's nothing quite like the truth.

"I was in a strange frame of mind where I thought that I didn't deserve to live, that I had cheated my lot in life by taking the Crystal—accidentally—into my possession without earning it. I believed myself on borrowed time. It must have been the shock of everything. Of seeing Garland… of watching him die… and I'm sure Jecht and Golbez told you that I didn't exactly behave like one who was used to trusting others," I added with a self-effacing smile. "And Garland never told me Cosmos' true intentions."

"I'm sure he meant to," the Warrior of Light says, "just as I'm sure he didn't intend to die after essentially forcing you to take the Crystal. I thought he had given it to you specifically because you wouldn't bring it to Cosmos, among other reasons," he adds with a smile. "Perhaps he underestimated you."

"He did that a lot," I say without thinking, and then as soon as I hear it, I can't help myself. I collapse into a fit of exhausted, relieved laughter. Strangely enough, it feels almost like a eulogy. I never laughed that honestly as a child; Garland had trimmed away the instinct in me and whether I like it or not, it's a little bit thanks to him that such an instinct has returned.

And I have a sudden, sobering realization. "Zidane never meant anything that he said to me before I tried to give up the Crystal. I always thought he had meant it and that he had subsequently forgiven me. But he never—he never meant any of it in the first place, did he?" My voice is pale.

"I could have told you that, if you didn't insist on dressing up like someone you're not and pretending that you didn't know any of us," Jecht growls softly. "We were there, remember? You didn't even stop to think about what we had in mind—Kuja, you told us that you were getting better. When I found out you'd lied to us, I… anyways. That was why we took you away from everything. We didn't want you to die alone. And when you told us that you had the Crystal, we thought that meant that the Crystal had revived you. We didn't know that if the Crystal was taken from you, then we would have done all of that for nothing."

"What Jecht's saying is that we never would have allowed you to bring the Crystal to Cosmos if we had known it would have killed you," Golbez clarifies.

"I figured it out pretty quickly though, although not quickly enough to stop you. I might have raised my voice a little with your brother," Jecht says to me. "I figured that the least thing I could do was defend your actions, even if they really pissed me off."

I laugh. "I have a question: what in the name of everything sane happened to me afterwards? All I remember is this tiny little sliver of white where Zidane was standing above me, and then all of a sudden I'm in the last place I want to be—"

In the Emperor's arms. Because Cecil had wanted to protect Golbez. I couldn't fault him for that, and I hope that I had never done anything as Cosmos to even accidentally suggest that I did.

"Zidane killed the false Cosmos," the Warrior of Light says.

"He did what, exactly?"

"Knowing that she couldn't keep any of us from returning the Crystal to you, she pretended to help. I—I take full responsibility for allowing her to do so."

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that," Golbez states softly. "She used Origin World magic on you. To keep you from assuming your role as the avatar of Cosmos, she separated you into two people, and your consciousness went to that other. From what Cecil and Terra tell me, she took your consciousness and created a life form not unlike herself. His name was Nuage."

"Nuage…" I repeat softly to myself. "That much I already know."

"Nuage knew about you too," Golbez adds. "Sephiroth told him. Sephiroth had found an archive of our worlds within the Origin World, and took Nuage away from the ones who were your keepers: Cloud, Terra, and my brother. The Warrior of Light had found the others, and explained what had happened, before going off in search of your body and Zidane. Nuage, having been made truly in your image, refused to rejoin your body, believing that he would die and his own personal consciousness that had developed would be overthrown by yours."

"What was I—what was Nuage doing, wandering around in the first place?" I want to know. I shake my head in disbelief.

"From what Cecil and Terra had to say, he was looking for his brother," Jecht tells me. "Except his brother didn't really exist. It was a suggestion of Zidane that somehow survived the transition. When he figured it out, Sephiroth promised him that he would help Nuage maintain his own identity, if Nuage did something for him."

"Create a new world," I fill in. Terra had told me that much; how else would I know that Cloud was someone else I had to worry for? "I—thank you for telling me all of this. I wonder," I say to myself more than anyone else as I press my palm to my heart, as if I can feel another soul that's only half-mine pulsing through my veins, "how did… how did Nuage and myself end up together again?"

Golbez sighs. "He sacrificed himself so that Zidane and you could have a chance to live together. He wanted to live through you, because for him, it was the only way he could be with his brother."

"I see," I whisper. Then I look up. Terra stands there hesitantly, her eyes fixed on me.

The problem with Terra is that even though she has the worst possible name, I've never wanted more in my entire life to blind myself of those associations. But Nuage is the one that she really and truly wants to talk to; I'm frightened of how she might be frightened of me.

She took care of me when I first woke up, when I slipped under the façade of a clueless deity in order to hide. I think she saw something of herself in my apparent blank slate, and I've been uncharacteristically shy of her ever since. It's much easier to be brave about romance and love when one isn't actually under its sway.

"Well, that's our cue to go," Jecht says as he stands up and pats me on the shoulder with enough force to set me off balance as he walks past. Golbez and the Warrior of Light follow.

Terra and I protest at the same time: she murmurs something about not wanting to interrupt while I am much less polite. "Jecht, what the—" I begin, but then cut myself off; I at least have to be more of a gentleman than Zidane.

While I stifle a simmering blaze across my cheeks, Terra sits down beside me and stifles a laugh. "I suppose… I suppose you really are Zidane's brother after all, then," she says. "But you're different from what I remember. I'm sorry, that should be a given, considering that you… are you still Cosmos?"

She makes me smile, despite myself. "I am."


	55. Suggestion Diabolique

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

In this chapter, Kuja steps up as the leader of the warrior of Cosmos in his own right, without any lies, just in time to unwillingly answer the call of someone who demands his audience even more. Please enjoy, and please tell me what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty-Three: Suggestion Diabolique**

This is the first time I'm leading the warriors of Cosmos as myself. It's a humbling experience; it truly is. But there's something reassuring about not relying on the mantle of the Crystal's light for their attention. At least, that's what I tell myself. Kind of like honesty being the best policy: it's nice, but it doesn't really get you anywhere on its own.

I am a terrible god of order and light. But no matter.

"No one here wants to abandon Bartz and Squall," I begin. I stand in the entrance hall of the abandoned mansion, which we have taken as our sanctuary. Some are standing, some sitting. None are placed too far away from me, though. That means I'm doing something right. Terra gives me a smile that might be reassuring, anyways. Or just a sign of embarrassment for me.

"And that's good, because it's not an option I'm offering you. There is something else I would like to discuss before we go into details concerning them, however. Something that concerns all of us—" I add, but even as that slips out of my mouth, I lock my gaze with the Warrior of Darkness.

That which I would like to talk about would not necessarily apply to him, if he doesn't wish it.

What is it that keeps you bound to us, Warrior of Darkness? Is it the Crystal? Is it enough to make you want to leave your fading world behind?

I genuinely believe that this world is better off without us. Sure, Firion and Squall and the others would love to do all that they can and contribute their leadership to the reformation of the Origin World, but I think that our presence is something of the problem. Put simply, this world isn't strong enough to carry us and the extreme forces of light and darkness we bear, otherwise our separate worlds wouldn't have been created in the first place. A world like this needs the support of other worlds, specifically that other world that Nuage created.

This is a weak world. It's not unlike my home Terra, but it wouldn't do us any good to destroy the Origin World. Autonomy can and has been declared; the relationship has evolved from parasitic to more mutually beneficial.

Like Terra, this world was strong once. Obviously. And even more obviously, the Warrior of Darkness is a vestige from that strength. But he doesn't belong here anymore. He's more like one of us than anyone else from his world. That's something he figured out long before I did, then. He is, after all, standing right there, waiting for me to continue. He knows what he's doing.

"I think that as soon as it's safe for this world, we need to leave. We aren't just going to save Cloud. We're going to join him."

At least my warriors have enough independent thought to voice their opinions. "What do you mean?" Firion demands, having apparently missed the first part of my statement. "We can't just abandon this place. It's our home now!"

"Firion, I don't think of this place as our home," Onion Knight says to him. I'm pretty sure that the only reason he voiced his opinion so quickly in my favor was because of Terra. "Sure, we're welcome here, but that's only because people know we can lend a hand. Most of the people of the Origin World we've interacted with don't even know who we really are—I mean, they thought that Squall was their hero 'Leon' come back from the dead. We're lying to them."

"We have to stand by the friendships we have made, regardless of the nature of their foundations," Cecil objects, even as Golbez places a hand on his shoulder and leans in close to whisper something to him.

Zidane makes a sheepish face at me when he thinks no one is paying attention to him. Jecht shakes his head in amusement. "Hey!" he then shouts. "Can we at least put on a civilized face? Kuja's not always an idiot; listen to the rest of what he's got to say."

"I'm going to let that one go," I tell him with a sideways smile. "For now. Everyone, please. I don't mean that we should leave the Origin World with our problems. But I think that in the process of aiding Bartz and Squall, some things will come to resolution that will…"

I don't want to continue that. Ultimecia may be the one who will likely end up delivering more lines, but the Emperor is still a supporting actor.

No. I'm not afraid, that's just silly.

_Here you are, my eldest boy. _

A comforting chill like shade trickles down the back of my neck. It's not the darkness that makes me afraid, it's the realization that the voice talking to me is most definitely not the Crystal's.

It's the voice of the blue light that led Zidane to discover his past, the voice of well of unquiet within me that had only just recently been stilled.

Garland. You're supposed to be gone. No. I killed you. When I let go of everything, including my hatred of you, the Crystal's light burnt you into oblivion.

_Let's talk, shall we?_

And then the mist that settled around me sprints away in the whisper of sharpness. My vision is unveiled, and I see Firion standing directly in front of me, his bow drawn and an arrow pointed at my head. No one else even moves.

That's when I sense the darkness at my back. The arrow Firion holds ready is his second. He has already let one fly; it sailed just a spare two inches to the right of my ear. That was the sound I heard that jolted me from Garland.

I look over my shoulder. One of the wraithlike manifestations of Chaos squirms in its death-throes just a foot from the hem of my skirts.

"Darkness prefers to tempt those on whom it once had a hold," Firion says sternly. He retracts his arrow and puts down his bow. "Are you all right?"

Firion. He was the first to voice an objection, but the first person to react when the Emperor's presence in my thoughts does something so unexpected, so strange that I can't even defend myself.

"I—" I want to say 'yes'. But I can't, so I try to continue where I left off. That doesn't get very far, either.

The darkness itself didn't frighten me. Didn't repulse me. If anything, it reassured me. That's the thought that makes my knees buckle underneath me. And then it comes, stronger than before. It wants me, and it doesn't want to be refused.

Crystal, please—

But the light doesn't come. I look up in sharp shock, and I reach my hand out to someone—anyone who's closest, I trust all of them the same—but the only thing that takes my hand is Chaos.

It's a metal hand, a gauntlet's crushing grip that I remember well from my childhood.


	56. Bringer of Peace & the Bringer of War

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Well, this is it everyone! A reader thoughtfully pointed out that it has been more than a year since Kuja first mused about his reflection in the mirror. After this chapter, there are only five left until the end of Silkscreen Requiem. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty-Four: The Bringer of Peace and the Bringer of War**

I wake up in muffled darkness, with my eyes and ears wrapped in soft silence, my limbs too lulled into peace to do much of anything. An apology nudges at my heart; the Crystal wants to say sorry for not reacting quickly enough. It also tells me that on a side note, it wants me to take the Warrior of Darkness with the rest of them to the new world.

Whenever I get out of this, Crystal. I promise, but I also have priorities.

This paralysis feels familiar. And while familiarity is often something meant to put one at ease, the fact that I've been in this position before only sets my pulse racing. I strain through the mist for any sense of sight, of hearing, for the silhouettes of monsters and the whispered conversations of demons.

A gauntleted hand cuts the bare skin of my shoulder as it slips under my head and lifts me into a sitting position. I regain some control over my senses with this gesture, and the veil lifts to show me that the one holding me upright is none other than my father, albeit in the stronger, helmeted form that everyone else knows as 'Garland'.

_Forgive me; this is the only way I knew that would absolutely capture your attention._

'Forgive me'? When did Garland ever bother with such formalities with me? And why wasn't he speaking normally? Why could I only hear him like the echo of a well-formed memory within my mind?

_I never got the chance to speak with you properly. And in any case, I wouldn't have been able to have the conversation that I want to have now back then. _

"Garland, what's happened to you? You're dead," I insist.

_That I am. _

"But then—"

_I've died many times. Even without your help, my boy. The Warrior of Light slayed me a long time ago. I returned, and then he killed me again. But I found myself once again in life, and created you. You killed me, and then I was once more in this form. Kuja, where there is Chaos, there is me. I am the face that the Origin World gave to Chaos. But now those chains have been broken. Light and darkness, order and discord, are no longer in the hands of the Origin World. They're in ours._

I look up into the dark glow that I imagine are his eyes. I wonder how I appear to him.

_Don't look at me like that, my boy. Don't look at me like a child fearing punishment. You're not a child anymore. I want you to know that I'm proud of you. You've grown well into the role that you've chosen. _

_But it was inevitable, with me being who I am. Who I truly am, I mean. For you to be able to oppose me, you could not retreat into the darkness; you would be tapping into my realm. No, the instant that your resolution to thwart me became apparent to me, I knew that for you to succeed, you would have to eventually wander into the light. _

_Your goals were born from Chaos. You wanted power, you wanted to feed your pride and sate your bloodlust and nurse your envy. I did not think you would succeed, but then again—wasn't it your desire to see your home Terra born anew? It brings me great joy to see my son as the manifestation of my antithesis. _

"Garland—" I begin. But he shakes his head.

_Chaos is my true name, just as Cosmos is yours. Order cannot be born from anything besides discord; Chaos was necessary for you to be created. Do not abandon your roots, else you will stagnate and die just like the Origin World almost did. Do not allow for the light to become a substitute for life. I sealed my fate—and yours—the instant I decided to put a limit on your lifespan, to make you a prototype, because I unwittingly taught you to be strong. Do not forget how to fight, and do not forget how to tell others that you don't agree with their mandates. _

"…why are you telling me this?" I ask slowly.

_Because while your mind and heart are here with me, I was interrupted. There are fools who have tapped into my power, and I have no say in how deep they may choose to submerge themselves. In my attempt to contact you, they took command of Chaos and stole your body away from the protection of your little brother and the others. _

Of course. The darkness that first called to me was an invitation, the one that Firion interrupted. But he had meant only the best.

_You've seen many examples of the ties that bind family. Golbez and Cecil, Jecht and Tidus, and even to some extent, Sephiroth and Cloud. And of course, your brother Zidane. _

And then Garland fell silent. He just knelt there, frozen, supporting me with one of his immense arms. _The night that I puzzled over what your appearance would be, I dreamt of one of my past lives—the one in which the Warrior of Light defeated me. So offended was I by the suggestion of defeat in my dream, I gave you his features. And so my dream became reality. _

_May we talk again, Kuja, when there are fewer idiots around who know nothing about how to truly wield my power. I'd like to be given some time to think about my role as the god of Chaos. Neither Cosmos nor Chaos is safe for the world when unrestrained._

"Cosmos? Can you hear me?"

Suddenly, the arms that support me aren't nearly as strong as Garland's. And there seems to be another set of hands checking my pulse at my wrist and throat, the flush of my cheeks, the rate of my breath.

"He's fine," a second voice says roughly, "I think. He's just shaking off the darkness. Why is this taking so long; shouldn't the Crystal be helping him?"

"How am I supposed to know?!"

I recognize both of those voices. I grimace, and then manage to choke out, "Bartz? Squall?"

The place I wake up in is significantly nicer than I thought it would be. And I'm not joking, either. The room is stripped off all furniture and trimmings that could potentially be used for weaponry, and there are distinct magical barriers hewn into the door and windows, but otherwise it could be a room in a palace. Sunlight streams in through the glass; there's a clear blue sky outside and from what I can see, a very well-maintained garden.

"Hang on, easy does it, Cosmos," Bartz coaxes me as he helps me sit up on my own. "You look kind of pale. Well, you always look pale, but… ah, you know what I mean. You're in the royal castle of the Origin World, except they don't have any royalty here. The Emperor kind of stole the throne."

"What are you doing here?" Squall demanded. "How could you let yourself be captured like this?"

"Squall, maybe you could chill out a little—" Bartz laughs uneasily.

"No! Answer me, Cosmos. It's one thing for me to fall for it, but it's inexcusable for you to be here. If it weren't for Shantotto and Gabranth, who knows where you would be." He knows what my next question is, so he answers it without me even having to say anything. "We don't actually know who Shantotto or Gabranth are or where they came from, but they brought you to us. Shantotto… she's a little strange. But Gabranth is all right."

"Even though Gabranth gave you those wounds," Bartz chips in. "He only did it when the Emperor was watching," he adds quietly.

Even as he says it, Squall backs off and shrinks into himself a little, as if that can hide the gouges across his collarbone and shoulders and his ripped shirt—he'd lost his jacket somehow—or the dried blood that painted a black river flowing from his scalp, or his cut lip.

I sigh in exasperation. "I'm not so bad off that I can't spare some magical energy. Squall, come here," I tell him, and reach out my hands expectantly.

"No, Cosmos, don't waste your strength," Squall protests emptily even as the wounds knit themselves closed, the remnants of blood and faint bruises the only indication that he was harmed. He only winces a little; perhaps my healing magic is less painful than it used to be.

"Kuja," I say as I momentarily press my thumb over the cut on Squall's lip. I don't apologize, I don't look away. I just watch him as his brow furrows in sparking confusion.

I hear Bartz exhale. "You mean—you're—"

"Thank you for keeping Zidane sane, despite my best efforts," I tell him.

And Bartz smiles. "Zidane—he—tell me he knows that it's you, that it's really you. He never said this, and he did a lot that might make it look like he didn't, but the only thing he really wanted was to get you back, and to get you safe. I know you're not safe right now, but… but you're okay, more or less."

"That's not true," I say to him. "He'd feel better if he knew where the both of you were, too."

"Someone's been a liar," Squall says then with a dry smile. "And that someone sure had us fooled. I don't know if I can trust a god who's such a good liar… but I guess I can give him another shot. Maybe. Since he looks so harmless and all right now, I don't think I have it in my heart to come down too hard on him."

"Squall, if you have enough energy to be snarky, then you've got enough energy to lead the charge out of here, don't you?" Bartz laughs. Then his face darkens. "Kuja, how good are you at playing dead?"

Squall tosses a glare in his direction, but then he softens. "Quick," he hisses underneath the sound of footsteps in the hall.

Bartz makes a face at me, and then against my wishes, I play along; I close my eyes and fall limp onto the floor with much less propriety than they must have been expecting. I hear them shift over me to make it look more natural.

"Please let it be Shantotto or Gabranth," Bartz whispers. "They're really nice to us when they know they won't get caught, I promise. Especially Gabranth, even though he puts on a show in front of the Emperor; I'm pretty sure he's the only reason I've made it for so long."

There is a female and a male voice outside, to be sure. And I would recognize both of them anywhere. As the door opens, I snap open my eyes and shift, intending to stand, but Squall plants his palm firmly on my collar and presses down.

"Sit down and shut up," he mutters under his breath.

And I hear footsteps. "My, he hasn't stirred yet? What did you do to him, Emperor?" Ultimecia purrs with a laugh. The answer had better be 'nothing'. They can't be standing more than two feet away from us. "Aren't you two adorable, looking after your frail little butterfly of a god. Whatever has he done to deserve such loyalty? Move aside—"

She cuts herself off. "Squall," she says then, her voice quite calm. "Whoever healed your wounds? Have I left you here for so long that time has granted its healing touch? Where are your new scars?"

I hear the clink of armor, and I remember that the Emperor and Ultimecia both still believe that I'm an amnesiac god of order and light and everything fluffy and happy, not myself. If it weren't for the magical boundaries that the Emperor had ever-so-thoughtfully laid out in this room, I could catch them off guard, attack, and then take Squall and Bartz and teleport out of here.

"Clear away," the Emperor commands Squall and Bartz. "I want to have a look at your god…"

Put simply, they don't move, and the Emperor calls out to the hall. After a spark of magic and the heavy sound of metal, I feel that Squall and Bartz are no longer at my side. Shantotto, whoever she is, is a very accomplished black mage, and Gabranth, a skilled fighter. However, I suspect that neither of them were subject to the same conditions—and lack of weaponry—as my warriors.

"Gabranth," the Emperor commands, "bring Squall. Shantotto, leave Bartz for now, I don't want to bother with getting rid of him at the moment. He's useless now that we have Cosmos."

For what purpose, might I ask?

I'm through with this charade; I open my eyes and teleport behind the Emperor. But that still leaves the two other mages in the room: Ultimecia and Shantotto. No matter, I can handle both of them at the same time, easily.

Sparks crackle at my fingertips as I stretch my hands out to both of them. But as it turns out, I'm crippled not by some superior magical skill, but by the simple glint of steel against Squall's throat.

It kills him to realize that he's the reason I can't fight; I can tell by the way his jaw is clenched and his glare shaking with anger. A man with cropped auburn hair and a proud face matches his gaze with mine. Ever so slightly, he shakes his head. Pleasure to meet you, Gabranth.

Shantotto looks up at me too. _If you are on our side, _I silently tell her with a whisper of magic that a mage of her skill should be able to hear and disguise,_ take Bartz and go, as soon as you are able._

She doesn't even blink. I take that as understanding and acceptance. That's the only thing that I'm thinking about when the Emperor strikes me with the broad side of his staff and forces the wind out of me. A compact spell of binding quickly pressed to my forehead as I fall, and I hear Squall cry out my name.

My name. Not 'Cosmos'.

" 'Kuja'…?" the Emperor says with pleased curiosity as he kneels down to my eye level. "Ultimecia, I think I've found out how your toy soldier recovered so quickly. I didn't think Cosmos capable of such subterfuge, but there you have it—"

I smack his hand aside without even thinking about it. He grabs my wrist and my shoulder and slams both into the tile with enough force to send biting shockwaves through my entire upper body.

"Well, here we are again," the Emperor says to me, his face too close to mine. His voice is intimate, but silence makes even something that shouldn't be anything but private very, very public.

I hear a jagged, taut exhale in disbelief. Don't blame yourself, Squall. You have no idea what the Emperor is capable of. And I have no idea what Ultimecia wants from either of us.


	57. Perfido

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Bartz and Shantotto return safely, but that to which they return isn't necessarily safe. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

**Chapter Fifty-Five: Perfido**

I'm pretty fast. I have to be; I can't call myself a thief otherwise. And I've stolen a lot of things out of some fairly sticky situations.

I look like an idiot. I'm sitting where I stumbled, exactly where Kuja was way too long ago. This can't be happening. This absolutely, totally, definitely cannot be happening. I didn't just lose Kuja again. I didn't just watch him, despite everything, fall to Chaos.

I'd just gotten my brother back. The brother I always knew Kuja was, deep down inside, the brother I'd always wanted and the one I would give and do anything for.

What happened? What had done it? I can't think of anything, and that makes me even worse off. That means there was nothing I could do. No, that's not true. I had missed something, something that should have been obvious—after all, who else here knows Kuja like I do? I had slacked off, I had dropped my guard. I hadn't been a good enough brother.

He had reached out. That meant that it had snuck up from behind and surprised him. It hadn't been his fault. It was mine.

"C'mon, kid, breathe or you'll die. Can't go after your brother if you're dead," Jecht says as he claps me on the shoulder hard enough to knock me out. "Better yet, why don't you take a second out for yourself first. Got to get your head screwed on right before you can do much of anything else."

I watch as the commotion around me takes a breather. Apparently, while I'd been reaching my hand out like a defenseless idiot, the entire mansion had been overwhelmed with Chaos. I guess I can have a one-track mind sometimes.

Terra lets the dancing wind on her fingertips die; Onion Knight sheathes his sword. Warrior of Light does the same, and Firion retracts his bow. Cecil lets the tension between his shoulders drop.

"They were after him," Golbez says. "Wasn't anyone—"

"The kid can take care of himself, despite popular belief," Jecht insists. "He'd be insulted if someone was hovering over him every waking moment. Chaos just wanted him real, real bad."

The Warrior of Light clears his throat. "Where's the Warrior of Darkness?" he wants to know, and as we all look around to try and get that figured out, we realize that we don't have an answer for him.

"He was with me," Cecil insists. "But—I lost track of him, I guess that much is obvious. You don't think that Chaos took him too, do you?"

All conjecture falls to the wayside as the front door opens. "Zidane!!"

"Bartz?" I say, my voice a skinny imitation of itself, as I turn around. It is him. It isn't any trick of the darkness, or maybe it is: he was pulled out of thin air by the Warrior of Darkness, who stands to his left. That firecracker mage I hadn't seen in forever—Shantotto—stands to his right. Bartz has a faded black eye and looks like he hasn't eaten right in months.

"I'm sorry for abandoning the battle," the Warrior of Darkness says softly. "But I felt someone using the darkness to travel, and I went to check it out in case it was an enemy. I found these two instead."

Every mage in the group crowds around Bartz, who laughs it off and protests vaguely. "No, I'm all right, really, I just look terrible. Though that chair does look a lot more comfortable than the floor I was living off until just a few minutes ago—Zidane," he says as he lets Onion Knight and Terra plant him in an armchair a few feet away from me. A little further away, Golbez kneels to shake Shantotto's hand as they exchange introductions.

"Or, I guess everyone," Bartz corrects himself. "I don't know what just happened here, but it looks like you just got done with a fight. I was with Squall; we were being held at the royal castle of this world. I think I was supposed to be bait for Zidane, so that you'd get yourself tripped up in a trap and Kuja would maybe come after you? I don't know, they were kind of vague about that. I guess they got impatient, because in the end they used the darkness to bring Kuja there."

He paused. "Judging by the awkward silence, I'm going to guess that's what had just happened here about five seconds ago?"

"You're correct," Cecil nods. Then he asks hollowly, "Bartz—how long were you there?"

"They caught me about the same time that you first showed up," Bartz tells him quietly. "I mean—the Emperor was really good at hiding me, he made this guy named Gabranth my guard and so you never would have known that I was there—"

"I…" Cecil says tightly. "That doesn't excuse anything…"

"No," Bartz insists. "Didn't you help that not-Kuja person escape? You did way more for us than you think. Ultimecia wants to use Squall's soul and memories of their world to recreate their world. That's why they took Squall, and Kuja."

"But I—"

"Enough guilt," the Warrior of Darkness snaps at him, and Cecil is so taken aback that he falls into silence. "From all of you. We don't have time for that. If what Bartz says is true, then we can't afford to waste any more time. Shantotto, tell us where we stand right now in the situation at the royal castle."

"Tone down your act a smidge, young man," she chides him. "I just committed treason. Not that I wasn't going to, anyways," she adds with a chuckle. "Gabranth and myself are from the two failed worlds that the Origin World attempted to create after your worlds broke free, just in case you haven't yet figured it out. Gabranth is on our side, but he's waiting to play his hand at the right moment. Under the Emperor's orders—because the Emperor always gives the orders—Gabranth seized Squall and threatened to slit Squall's throat if Kuja tried to fight. Gabranth wouldn't have actually done it, but Kuja didn't know that, so he backed down. The Emperor cast a binding spell on Kuja and as far as I can tell, broke Kuja's wrist and possibly dislocated his shoulder. Ultimecia plans to move ahead."

"So neither Squall nor Kuja has much time," the Warrior of Darkness says softly. "Or any time…"

"We can't afford to darken our thoughts with such uncertainties," the Warrior of Light tells him. "We can only move. I take it that the quickest path to the royal castle is the same one that Bartz and Shantotto took to escape."

"Yeah, about that," the Warrior of Darkness says. "You guys can't go through there. Bartz, I'm going to guess that you aren't up for a fight right now, and I'm sure traveling through the darkness had something to do with it. The only person who can successfully lead beings of the light through the path of darkness is—I mean, you need the Crystal," he corrects himself. "Where I am right now, I can only protect one of you, and even that's not a sure thing."

"Well, what about us?" Jecht wants to know. "Me and Golbez aren't exactly bright little rays of sunshine. And with the two of us, that'll make it easier if the kid here comes with us, right?" he adds as he places his hand on my shoulder.

"But—" Terra and Cecil both say at the same time.

"If the Emperor is there, then I want to be as well," Firion adds. "I don't think there's a single one of us who would prefer to stay behind."

"I don't think there's a single one of you who would rather get lost in the darkness and devoured by Chaos. And that's what would happen," the Warrior of Darkness insists.

"It's fine," the Warrior of Light decides then. "I'm fine with staying behind if it means that someone I trust will do what I would, anyways. Bartz and Shantotto just escaped from the clutches of Ultimecia and the Emperor. I'm sure that will only go unnoticed for some time. Their escape would be pointless if they walked right back into Chaos' arms."

Firion unsheathes one of his throwing knives, and then another. He holds them out to me. "Zidane," he says, "this is the only thing I can think of right now. I'd give you more, but a thief has to be light on his feet. If you need them, use them. I don't mind if I don't see them again, so long as the Emperor's the last person to see them instead."

"Thanks," I say. "This means a lot to me."

"Brother—" I hear Cecil say to Golbez behind me as I slip the knives into my belt. "Return safely. That's all I ask. I have faith that you can do it."

"You could come, if you wanted. You know you could," Golbez tells him.

"But I'm—I'm ashamed," Cecil admitted in a whisper.

I would give anything to have even half of his strength.


	58. Libera Me

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

Right now I'm playing FFXIII to get some final (hah) details for the last chapter. I'm about a headache, one instance of falling asleep in front of my TV, and three cups of tea in, so I think I've made some decent progress in the game! But I can't stop thinking of Cocoon and Pulse as alternate versions of Terra and Gaia. I guess I'm a IX fan through and through…

Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty-Six: Libera Me**

White pain arcs across my collarbone. My magic strains against the Emperor's binding spell, desperate to erase the hurt. But at least my pain matches the great, empty alabaster hall that Squall and I share with two people who very much want to hurt us and one who doesn't have as many reasons to want to do the same. That's something, at least.

"Gabranth, allow me to introduce you to my close friend Kuja," the Emperor says, his overstuffed opinion of himself spilling out of his voice, "You both have something in common; very curious relationships with your respective brothers."

I wonder which of us, Zidane or me, would take greater pleasure in tearing the Emperor limb from limb. And I say so.

"Really now, as a god of order you must pay more attention to what slips out of your mouth," the Emperor tells me as his chilling metal fingertips slip into my robes through the open back; they curl around my sides and the pain is instantly replaced with explosive rage. It causes a crack to form in his binding spell; I have to be careful if I want it to shatter properly.

"Stay here," he whispers, his breath brushing my ear. He hasn't noticed, he's too busy being otherwise distracted. I'm disgusted that I have to withstand even an instant more of this if I want to save Squall along with myself.

Squall locks his gaze with mine. I assure you, Squall, every horrible conclusion that your stare tells me that you're coming to, as you watch the Emperor take advantage of this, is nothing less than absolutely correct.

I didn't want anyone else to know. I didn't want it to be what they thought of when they looked at me. I wanted it to end with the few of my warriors who did know, and let it be buried in the past.

And more importantly, I didn't want any of my warriors to know, because I didn't want this to be what they thought about if they ever had to know that I would endure this again for their sake.

When did I start to believe that? When did I change so much that I would…? No matter. I'll have plenty of time for that conversation with myself after all of this mess is cleared up, somehow.

"So Emperor, are you sure that you can do this?" Ultimecia asks. Do what, exactly?

"Don't insult me, woman," the Emperor replies coldly. Ultimecia gives him a sycophantic, apologetic smile. He's a fool if he can't see through it. And he is a fool. The crack widens a little more, but not enough just yet. "Why would I bother drinking the darkness if I was not certain I would achieve my desired results?"

"As we knew you would," Ultimecia responds placidly. "Squall, are you ready to return to our world?"

"Sorry, what?" Squall wants to know. "Our world is gone. It's done with. What are you talking about?" It seems that Squall and I are both on the same page. The wrong one.

"Gone, but not irreplaceable," Ultimecia tells him. "Kuja, a part of you exists that can create new worlds, correct? You did so for Sephiroth at his request. I really only want you to do as I ask, Kuja, and nothing more. I don't want to have to interfere in this world any more. I'm so tired of it," she sighs. "Squall, whatever is the matter?"

Certainly, Ultimecia, I would love to make you a new world. I would just have to die in order to do it, because I'm quite sure that none of you here as even half as skilled as that little witch from the Origin World when it comes to splitting one's soul from one's body. That, and from what I can tell, Nuage wasn't as patient as I was. He'd rather kill himself, and unlike me, he'd have the abandon to go through with it.

I don't quite understand the power of my other half, but I don't think he can do what Ultimecia desires anyways. He crafted a world of his own fear and the shadow of Sephiroth and Cloud hovering above him. He would need some basis from which to work—a record.

Squall. Specifically, Squall's memories. Perhaps some of Ultimecia's memories as well. But that's not enough for a full-fledged world, that's just enough to create a warped version of reality based on the two.

Not that Ultimecia would care. She's only interested in her version of their world, after all.

"Ultimecia, this is between us," Squall seethes. "Don't bring anyone else into it."

"But Kuja didn't have any trouble with using you as bait for Zidane, once upon a time. Is that fair? He even teased you about your loneliness."

"That's in the past! If you're going to live in the past, then why don't we take this conversation all the way back to our world while you're at it? This is what this is really about, isn't it? You want a new world so that you can pretend that none of this ever happened, so that you can go through with time compression and you can be alone. Haven't you taken anything from all that's happened to us? Haven't you… isn't there anything you want differently?"

"You—" Ultimecia says fiercely through clenched teeth, but what she says hardly matches the way she says it. "You're just saying that because you're the one who stands to die in this situation…"

"You're the one who's dying," Squall replies jaggedly. "You've been given a new world already, and a chance to make it so that you don't have to resort to the measures that destroyed our home in the first place. Yes, I said 'our'. Because it was ours both. And we shared it, whether we liked it or not, with other people who didn't get the chance to survive like we did. Who's to say that they didn't want to be alone every once in a while? That they didn't want to turn their backs on the world and just go it alone for the rest of their lives? And now they're gone… they're all gone…forever. We're the only ones who are left now. Isn't that lonely enough for you?"

I breathe in sharply, more fiercely than I intend. Ultimecia turns on me.

"You don't… want to be alone," I say quietly, as I try to ignore the crawling sensation of the Emperor's hands on me. "I was raised alone. Garland is my father. Even before he created Zidane, he didn't ever let me be with him. And what little attention he once paid to me, he gave to Zidane… so I left. I isolated myself in a world that was beautiful, and I resented it because it wasn't mine and no matter what, I believed would still be alone. So I… I almost destroyed it. And I brought all of this on us by attempting to destroy everything, and succeeding just enough to draw the attention of the Origin World."

"Kuja," Ultimecia begins. But she doesn't get the chance to continue.

"Ultimecia," the Emperor calls out. "I grow weary of this pointless conversation. Are you going to allow a child to weaken your resolve?" The Emperor slips his right hand up over my torso, until his palm rests over my frantically beating heart. He actually intends to attempt what that witch did to me, doesn't he?

Of course. If he succeeds, then Ultimecia can have the half of me with the power to do exactly what she wants—the half with a soul—and the Emperor can take the sleeping half of me that carries the power of the Crystal. I won't be awake to tell him to go to hell.

No. I refuse to be anyone's plaything. I refuse to become his soulless doll.

"I expected better out of you," he tells Ultimecia.

But there's no going back for Ultimecia. Yes, she was using the Emperor. She was using him because she was smart enough to be wary of what would happen if she personally drowned herself in enough darkness to gain the power from which the Emperor didn't even think of shying away.

"Ultimecia," Squall says then, and then pauses with the weight of the world hovering on the tip of his tongue. "You're from the future of my world, right? Are you—by any chance, are you—"

"Time witch!" the Emperor snaps. "If you're going to make a decision, make it now, or get out of my sight. I have plans for this fledgling god, plans that don't necessarily coincide with your own. My benevolence is wearing thin."

"Silence, Emperor," she orders. "There is a time and place for everything, and if there is one thing that you lack, it's the ability to wait when you know your schemes have almost come to fruition. You're only patient when you feel like it, and I suspect that your flirtations with the darkness have only worsened that quality of yours. I've stood silent and waited for your sake, now do the same for me."

"Reciprocity isn't really one of my virtues," the Emperor sighs. "I'm making your decision for you."

_Kuja, you've got to get out of here now! _If the Crystal felt like speaking, that's what its sudden surge of insistence would have said to me. Just in time: I split the fissure in the Emperor's binding spell just as a claw of Chaos reaches for the Crystal inside of my heart. My head swims from the effort.

Squall stands up; Gabranth's weapon becomes two and he gives one half to Squall. It's not exactly a gunblade, but I don't think Squall will complain.

But it isn't either of them who steps in front of me as I muster together the strength to ease the pain in my shoulder and wrist. "I'm not doing this for your sake, I'm doing it for my own," Ultimecia assures me. "I'm doing this because I have a question. And no, it's not for you. It's for Squall."

Good to know that we're finally seeing eye-to-eye, old woman.

I watch as Squall takes up a defensive stance by her side. He looks at her for a single, brief moment, but in that one moment, an entire world of resolution passes between them. It's practically tangible, they change their attitudes towards each other so quickly. I don't understand yet, but I'm not going to argue.

"Before you ask," Gabranth calls out to the Emperor, "Yes. I am betraying you. I'm rather good at it. But you already knew that, didn't you? You simply assumed it wouldn't happen to you."

Whatever their motivation may be, I am so very thankful for those who are willing to stand in front of me right now. But I'm not a coward. There is a darkness pouring forth from the Emperor that Ultimecia is not strong enough to fight, and I don't think Squall would forgive himself if this was the last time he ever spoke to the old hag.

Ultimecia wants help, but she's too proud to ask. She doesn't want to be alone, but she's too afraid to say so. It's so much easier to pretend that you don't want the world to befriend you. I know what I'm talking about.

"Gabranth, Squall," I say then. "Are you really and truly my warriors? Will you allow me to give you an order?"

"I don't think it's an order if you ask permission first," Squall replies, looking at me sideways. "You're not thinking about asking us to make a run for it, are you? Because that's kind of stupid, and as far as tactics go, it's not really the best idea I've ever heard."

"It's a battle that Kuja wants to fight."

It isn't until Ultimecia says it that I even consider it from that point of view. It was true that I wanted everyone out of harm's way, but when it came down to it, she knew me a little too well.

I know what Garland was trying to say. The Crystal didn't choose me because I would be the easiest or gentlest of Chaos' followers to turn to the path of order. As one of the most stubborn, it could even be said that I was the most difficult, but nothing comes from taking the easy path. The Crystal picked someone who would make that journey difficult, because 'order' and 'light' are hardly the same. The warriors of the light needed to make peace with the warriors of darkness. There were outliers on each side, those who wanted desperately to disturb the balance and make it impossible for the two sides to even consider unification.

The Emperor was one of those.

Ultimecia smiles. "I'm right, aren't I?" she asks me. "And believe me, Gabranth and Squall, it's one that he has every reason to desire. Let's go, boys. Kuja, he's all yours."

"Please don't put it like that," I say, covering my eyes with my hand. "That's just…"

"You're right. I apologize for my insensitivity," Ultimecia tells me. "All of my insensitivity. I wish you—"

Whatever she wanted to wish me, she never was given the chance. Their names choke my throat closed as I stare at writhing, sickly shadows standing in their place, and the dark abyss that unfolds itself around me.

I don't ask what the Emperor did to them. I don't want to give him the pleasure of composing a gloating response. I don't want him to see my face after I hear him say the names of the lost and 'death' in the same sentence. Instead, I look upon his face, if that's what the hideous contortion staring hungrily at me can be called. I knew that glittering, painted appearance of his was just a façade.

"Kuja…" he says with a sigh as he closes the distance between us. His walk is slow, like a predator who doesn't even consider the possibility that it might fail to catch his prey. "Are you really going to fight me alone? When has that ever worked in your favor?"

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am the avatar of Chaos."

"Except that you aren't," I say calmly. "You're just—"

The evenness of my voice is a lie. He plucked me from the security of my warriors, and in their moment of weakness eliminated both Squall and Gabranth, and Ultimecia as well, with about the same amount of energy it takes for me to walk. His mind drags along such depths that even I have never, ever brushed.

I want this fight, it's true. Because he makes me so afraid. And both Cosmos and Chaos alike want to fight against that which brings them terror.


	59. Actus Tragicus

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

This is a special chapter, because it is Zidane's last chapter before the end (no, it isn't his last chapter because he dies). Everyone wondering what Exdeath was up to during all of this, though he wasn't really up to anything specific, will finally learn what he was doing in this chapter as well. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty-Seven: Actus Tragicus**

Useless.

Weak.

Lonely.

Failure.

I'm the last person who should ever travel through this path of the darkness. Everyone thinks I'm so strong, that my smile and my energy are genuine. It's all such a lie. They don't know—except for Bartz—that I wanted to die, that I wanted to use Kuja's insecurity to die, even though he needed my help, even though he was too proud to ask.

He turned to Chaos because of me. If I had never been born, then maybe Garland would have loved him. If he had been given support and care, maybe he would have been different.

If I hadn't been a coward and abandoned him, then maybe he wouldn't have woken up alone in the fragmented worlds. Maybe I could have protected him from the Emperor.

If I hadn't been so self-centered, then I could have figured out that something was very, very wrong with him. Maybe I could have been the person to take care of him and bring him to the light, instead of the two strangers standing next to me. Instead, he was the one who became afraid of me, who hid his identity because he was afraid that I would treat him with cruelty if he tried to be himself. And he was the one to come to me, to come clean and place himself at my mercy.

Why? Why wasn't 'sorry' good enough for me? Why wasn't his attempt to save Tidus' life enough of a gesture for me? Why wasn't his willingness to give up his identity for my sake—something that he prized over life itself—enough of a clue?

"Jecht?" I call out. "Golbez?"

Damn all of this. I'm alone. I don't even know where I am; Jecht was following the Warrior of Darkness, and I was following him and Golbez was standing next to me.

I don't want to be alone. Not here, not now. I'll never find my way out. I'll be lost here forever.

Something stirs. "Who's there?!" I demand frantically. The first things that slip into my hands are Firion's knives; I let them fly without a thought. Something squeals in unearthly terror, and even though I know I hit my mark, that somehow only makes me more afraid. I wasn't aiming at anything. If I managed to hit something, then either I'm really lucky—fat chance of that right now—or there are a lot of targets.

Those knives were meant for the Emperor. So much for Firion's gesture of friendship. And why not? While I'm being a total loser, I might as well not stop halfway.

Kuja would call me an idiot for acting like this. He'd slap me across the face and demand to know what the hell was wrong with me, that I wasn't the brother that he'd had to suffer with for all this time. Sorry, Kuja, your brother's a total loser.

Maybe it's better that I'm lost here. The darkness isn't so bad. It's kind of nice. It doesn't mind that I'm a failure; it doesn't expect me to do anything about it, it just wants me to take a breather, stop for a little while, maybe get some rest. I could use some rest. Sleep sounds pretty good right now. So does not having to wake up.

I don't really want to get to my destination, anyways. I don't want to step in between Kuja and the Emperor only to fail. I don't want to fail again. I don't want to be forced to watch as the Emperor does terrible, terrible things to my brother. I don't want to hear Kuja scream.

Something please put me out of my misery. But could that something please let me know if Kuja's okay, first?

Kuja doesn't need me, anyways. Not anymore. I carried him halfway across the Origin World, but he's got Jecht and Golbez and the Warrior of Light, and even Terra's warming up to him now.

Kuja and I didn't even speak before Chaos took him away.

Maybe Garland had gotten us mixed up. Kuja wasn't the one who was supposed to support me and then disappear. Maybe I was the one who was supposed to do my job and then go away.

Kuja would definitely call me an idiot if I ever said that out loud to him. I need to be stronger, and I need to be stronger now. Strong enough so that he doesn't have to worry about the Emperor or anyone else ever again.

You're my brother, Kuja, and I would do anything for you.

At the sound of footsteps, I take my daggers into my hands. I can't die now, not before I've seen Kuja safe with my own two eyes. But that which the darkness offers me is nothing more threatening than a hand.

"…Exdeath?" I breathe as the hulking armor stands in front of me, offering me a hand in greeting. "You're supposed to be—" Actually, I didn't know what he was supposed to be doing. We'd lost track of him. Maybe that had been exactly what he wanted.

"Did your comrades miss me?" Exdeath asks with a chuckle. "Can you blame me for abandoning our game, now that I've found my prize? What brings you to the outskirts of the Void, Zidane? Are you… lost here? Or are you seeking something?"

There was strength here.

No. That's a bad train of thought to start following. But the Warrior of Darkness' power comes from here, doesn't it? How bad can it be? I've never seen anything bad happen to him, and he's strong, strong enough to be able to walk through the darkness without getting lost. I could reach Kuja in an instant if I had his power. I would never have to worry about Kuja being lost to the darkness of Chaos ever again. If he ever fell, I could just come in and get him.

"Yeah, I'm looking for something," I tell Exdeath. That confident façade's already gotten me in trouble a few times, hasn't it?

That's when Exdeath looks up sharply. He knows something I don't. "Someone is drawing on the power here. I would say it was the Emperor—but it's no business of mine any longer. Zidane, you do realize that you're in my realm now, don't you?"

I swallow, and then nod. "I do," I say shakily. "But I…I'm here because I want to be. I need help."

"I can give help, if it's asked for properly."

I don't really get the metaphysics or magic or whatever logic that runs behind Kuja being able to strengthen his trance through the acquisition of additional souls, but I know that it had something to do with using despair to fuel that fire.

If the Void swallows all despair or whatever Exdeath goes on about, then it just doesn't go nowhere, does it? It's got to be drifting around somewhere, somehow.

"Zidane, I'm growing impatient."

I don't answer, but I've got one hovering on the tip of my tongue. I take a deep breath, and then I say quietly, "Can you… really help me?"

Exdeath laughs. I take that as a 'yes'.


	60. The Emperor's Hymn

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

In case anyone was looking forward to a whole chapter in which the Emperor is an infuriating jerk the entire time, this is your chapter. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Emperor's Hymn**

"How does it feel, knowing that you are about to leave your warriors without a god? How will Jecht and Golbez feel, knowing that they have lost their adopted son and brother? What of the Warrior of Light, the one who looks at you and sees a different version of his own face? The Onion Knight, who's only happiness is that little girl Terra's happiness? Can you imagine her face when I deliver to them your corpse, bruised and violated and pale? At least it wouldn't be as much of a surprise to Cecil, but…"

"Emperor, you play even dirtier than I do," I smirk. I won't let him know that I'm imagining every single scenario he describes. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you'd have to be just a little obsessed with me to know that much about my personal life. I'm so flattered."

I teleport out of the way. He doesn't attack me with any true intensity just yet; he's having too much fun torturing me, and he doesn't even know he's succeeding.

"Fine, we'll talk about my life," he decides. My goodness, is this what I put Zidane through on Gaia? I owe my brother an apology; this is so drearily tiresome. Little wonder he wanted to beat me up.

"After I razed Firion's home, my soldiers came upon him and three of his friends. Being the pathetic excuses for humans that they were, they put up a fight. For a little. But one was more stubborn than the others: Firion's dearest friend Leon."

"As I came upon my soldiers, I watched out of view as they toyed with Leon until they had sliced him an inch from death. And then I decided that I would have a little fun. I came before them, ordering them to halt, pretending that they were out of line. To Leon, I appeared merciful. I had saved his life. I took that boy and twisted him into my puppet. And what a lovely puppet he was…I wasn't even disappointed when I discovered that Firion had lived and joined a petty, pathetic rebellion against me, because it was just too much fun to pit them against each other. Leon is the one that Firion sees every time he looks at you, I guarantee it."

'Darkness prefers to tempt those on whom it once had a hold', Firion had said. I have a question for the Emperor.

"So tell me: whatever happened to Leon?" I want to know. Because I have a sneaking suspicion that there's a very good reason that the Emperor didn't continue with his story.

The Emperor snarls. "That's not important."

That makes me laugh; I can't help it. "Let me guess… Firion forgave him, and saved him. And Leon turned his blade on you once he realized what you had done."

"And then I killed him while Firion watched."

"You're lying," I say. "I know you are. Because Firion would never allow something like that to happen. I know my warriors. Can you say that you know yours? Oh, that's right. You don't have any left. You never had any. For all that you must have critiqued Garland, told yourself that you could have done better, I must admit he knew how to lead. While you only know how to conquer. I suppose that's enough for someone like you, but… I have higher standards."

"Your standards are abysmal. You'll accept anyone who makes you feel loved, won't you? The dregs of Chaos, Jecht and Golbez. You're so pathetic you'll even accept a smile from Ultimecia, the same smile she wore while she watched you—"

"Can we please move on?" I roll my eyes. "Is that your only trump card?"

"Is this unpleasant attitude yours? It's gotten worse ever since we started this conversation; just how afraid of me are you? I'm almost insulted; all I want to do is going to be for your own good."

"Turning into your puppet certainly sounds healthy," I retort. "Let me sign up right now."

"I wonder what your brother would do if I gave him your corpse."

"Go to hell!" I snap, and my fury shoots fused magical energy in his direction. I was hoping it would explode on impact, but he was waiting for it and dodged out of the way.

"Been there," the Emperor smirks and returns the favor. I dart out of range.

"It was boring. So I made it more exciting by placing myself on its throne. You would have loved the palace there, Kuja. It was so pretty and lifeless, just like I want you to be. Do you know what I want to do with you first once I've broken you?"

"So now you want to keep me alive? Make up your mind," I tell him. I'm not listening, most definitely not listening.

"I'm going to make you murder that brother of yours," he says to me. "To prove your loyalty to me. And not with magic, either. I want you to slice him open, and watch his life bleed out of him. You know it's something you've fantasized about, from when you were a child. What sort of twisted child has dreams like that?"

"How do you—" I begin, and then cut myself off. He's making all of this up. He's just doing anything, saying anything to get under my skin. He doesn't know that he's right. He doesn't know that I have so much to be ashamed of, not until I react and he smirks in his disgusting, superior and shallow accomplishment.

"And then I'll make you slay those who betrayed Chaos. Jecht, Golbez. And then the one who betrayed me, Cecil, and the one who you allied yourself with that day, the Warrior of Light. I suppose I would find it amusing to watch you kill your little lovebird, and her friend, wouldn't I?"

"And last, I want to watch Firion's gaze shatter as the one in whom he's instilled so much of his faith snaps his life in half."

"You really don't like people who tell you 'no', do you…?" I muse. "What is it? The fact that people might not worship you enough to blindly agree with you? Or the bruise to your ego, knowing that some people think you're wrong? Enough of this darkness. I'm going to purge this dreary and boring suffocation from my sight."

The Emperor doesn't like that idea, not at all. The light of the Crystal makes him snarl like the monstrosity that he truly is. He bolsters the foundation of power he laid for his eclipse; he sets Chaos upon me like a pack of hellhounds.

No matter. I mastered holy magic long before I had even known of the Crystal's existence. A brilliant, searing light fills my heart, and strengthened by the Crystal; I barely manage to give it direction in time before it escapes my body.

"What does it take to make you lose control?" the Emperor laughs at me as the light fades. I struck him, but I wasn't strong enough. I can't be strong enough unless I succumb to the pull of the souls inside of me and allow myself to trance. And by the sound of it, that's exactly what the Emperor wants me to do.

Why? Does he want me to kill him? Does he want to die? I falter; I take a step back that is so shaky I almost fall backwards. Could it be that he…?

"Lose control, my lovely little weapon. Give all of yourself, all of your strength, to your devouring power, and fall into my arms," he says with a cold, cold smile.

No. There's nothing left of him to see or understand. Whoever the Emperor might have once been, he is far gone.

And then he says, "You could call me Mateus, if you wanted to."

I pause.

"Is that your name?" I ask. "You… should have used it earlier. Before it was the only thing left of your identity—whatever it must have once been." I have a distinct impression that the Emperor had lost his grip on his soul a long, long time ago.

"So that's it," he chuckles. He sounds hollow with something that should be despair, but isn't nearly as begging of sympathy. "That's the difference between us. And how different we are—you place all too much value on your soul, so that you would even give up your name, Kuja, to keep it as your own. But how you've changed! And you refuse to even see it. You're left with nothing of your former self, while I have everything, and my integrity and my name."

"What point of reference do you have from which to judge me?" I want to know. "I have none in respect to your transformation, and I don't pretend otherwise. Your spiteful attempts to belittle me are… empty," I say desperately, "empty and nothing else. Stop lying to yourself and stop pretending to be something you so very clearly aren't. You aren't omniscient, you aren't omnipotent. You're neither god nor demon, you're just so far gone that no one can save you."

That makes him smile as he comes near me. "And when did I say that I wanted to be saved? Not everyone hungers for the complacent, sickly mugginess of the light. But you are correct in some fashion: there is someone here who needs very desperately to be saved. And if I'm already ruled out, then who do you think it could be?"

I don't avert my eyes when he touches my cheek. I don't even blink.

"What do you think you would be saving me from?" is all I say.

"Your rebellious free will."

His words drag me back into the recesses of my memory. The dazzling gold is replaced by a black husk.

"You think you can control me?" I ask with a delicate smile. "I find that an amusing prospect. You couldn't control me when I was broken, when I had very nearly succumbed to darkness and my own mortality. Have you invested so much of your ego in your own powers that you think you can overcome me now, now that I am no longer alone?"

"You're not alone? Is that what you really believe?"

I close my eyes. "I'd rather not kill you. And yes, I actually do mean that. But were I to somehow isolate you, seal you away, you would doubtless saturate your thoughts with so much hatred and madness that were you to break free, you would be even more of a semblance of your former self than you are now."

"But I, at least, advocate mercy killing," the Emperor says to me. His hand still has not left my cheek. "If I cannot have you, then I will consider it most merciful to both myself and you to put you out of your misery."

"What misery?" I want to know, as I shake my head. I am not in denial. I may stand before the man who raped me, as he tries to be the avatar of Chaos that even Garland never was, as he caresses me as if I were his possession, but I am not miserable.

Hardly. The thought of a place amongst others to which I can go after all of this is done makes me happy.

I raise my hand, and gently clasp it around the Emperor's. "I am sorry. Truly, I am. For all I know, I may be standing opposite another version of myself, from another version of the story that gave birth to me. Or I may not. That uncertainty, and the knowledge that I will never be able to resolve it, is what I apologize for. I am sorry that the best thing I could do for you is to kill you, and I am sorry that I do not believe that you have done anything to deserve better. If there is anything I have learned, it is that we are defined by our actions, in the present even more so than in the past, and you have only further affirmed your past as I know it. I may be called a god by this world, and I may be called something other than human by my blood, but I can't claim anything more infallible or omniscient than humanity."

After all, it is mortal emotion that fuels the fire in my veins. "Die grandly, Mateus, gilded emperor of an ephemeral world. If it's what's most important to you," I say to him as I cast aside his hand from my face.

When I close my eyes, I sink into a place below my own consciousness. I feel the crowded murmur of Gaia's souls within myself, and the bolstering and blazing confidence of the Crystal. More and more, the Crystal reminds me of my brother.

Like an ache the power spreads through me from my core to the rudimentary fragments of sensation at the tips of my fingers. But he's too quick, too blind, too desperate: he wildly tosses magic in my direction, just enough so that I have to break my attention and block it. But not more.

Again and again, without even waiting to see where I stand as I teleport away, he volleys sparks of darkness at me. This is time-consuming, and only puts off the inevitable. What does he hope to accomplish? Is he waiting for me to change my mind? That's not going to happen.

He knows me; he knows that magic like that won't do anything more serious than distract me.

I'm not an idiot, but he isn't either. The Emperor is doing this on purpose. There's no discernable pattern; he's not trying to close me in, press me up against a wall or anything else. So time must be what he's trying to manipulate. For some purpose, whatever it may be, he needs more time.

"Kuja!"

Zidane? No.

No. You can't be here.


	61. Dance of the Furies

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

I wish I had an author mini-rant to go here, but quite honestly I'm drawing a blank. Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

~greyrondo

**Chapter Fifty-Nine: Dance of the Furies**

"Your brother thinks he can help you, Kuja. He's so very predictable."

Zidane. How did you find me? There's a flash in your eyes that I'm afraid to see, because I'm worried that look refuses to leave me alone with the Emperor. You couldn't protect me then; I'm afraid in case you believe only death will keep you from trying to protect me now. You're the idiot here.

"Kuja, I'm here to help. I'm not letting you do this alone," Zidane tells me. I stand still for too long, but there's nothing for me to dodge. The Emperor found a new target.

Zidane lies where he fell, smarting from the sting of dark magic. He can't stand up. The Emperor kneels over him, and his golden gauntlet is wrapped close to Zidane's throat. Zidane's eyes are so full of fear and hatred right now, and there isn't anything I can do about it.

"Release him," I say calmly. The stillness is half-formed and shaky on its feet.

"Come closer, my deluded angel of death," the Emperor calls to me sweetly. "Come to me. Come trade places with your brother, and I promise that the embrace I wrap you in will be much warmer and closer than the one I'm giving him."

"Don't do it, Kuja," Zidane struggles to say, half-choking as he speaks to me.

I shake my head. "Zidane…"

I'm a god, Zidane. You aren't. You don't understand—except that you do.

Zidane, you're brilliant. You're giving the Emperor the perfect act; you saw through his trap and fell for it to give me the time I need. He has to tell me not to comply with the Emperor's mandate, but he knows that's just a formality. He wants me to give in, because that's how we'll win. The Emperor's true weakness is his perception of my weakness.

"Let him go," I say, making sure that my voice quivers at the end. I have to toe the line between strength and hopelessness.

"Kuja!" Zidane protests. "Don't even think about it. I'd rather die than see this monster put his hands on you."

"I never asked you to do this for me," I insist. "Emperor, let go of him. I'll do—I'll do whatever you say," I finish, as if it pains me to say it. "Let him go, he's a fool."

"Do as I ask, and I'll return the favor," the Emperor smiles serenely.

I don't teleport. I walk. I settle a sulking and proud glare in the Emperor's gaze, and his smile just widens. He doesn't stand up, but without removing his hand from Zidane's throat, he outstretches his hand to me. I stand still, just a few inches out of his reach.

A magic array of concentric circles ensnares me as the Emperor lets go of Zidane. I take his hand, and he doesn't pull me out of the circle. He steps inside.

Now it's my turn to be truly afraid. Because the look in his shrouded eyes explains everything. The Emperor doesn't mean to survive. He wants to die, and he wants my skeleton to rest beside his. As he clenches me tight in his arms, a weary dullness to his eyes devours the shock in mine. The Emperor is not me. But he has somehow inexplicably sprinted down the same path that I did.

If I die, what will happen to the Crystal? Will it die along with me? Just as I rely upon it to survive, does it work the other way, too? Because I could very well die. The closeness of the Emperor suffocates me, strains at every slip of sensation on my skin.

No. If all else fails, I will give the Crystal to Zidane. It will be safe, at the very least. That's the decision I make just as I'm freed.

Freed isn't the right word: I'm physically separated from the Emperor by sheer force and I'm thrown to the ground.

"Zidane!" I call out. The dazzling light fades, leaving behind the inexplicable sensation of darkness, and my brother—tranced—stands in the spot where the Emperor did just a moment ago, right by my side.

How is that possible? Zidane's trance isn't that strong. I'm still puzzling over it when he gives me a stupid smile.

"I'm really sorry about that," he says, "but I had to get him to stop tossing that magic around so either of us could get at him. As soon as I saw his magic circle up around you, I knew it had to be me. I—I am sorry. I don't think I could have tranced if the sight of him looking at you like that didn't piss me off so much."

No. That's not good enough of an explanation. But that will have to wait until we're safe. Both of us.

I don't reply; we don't have time. Suffocation, silence. It is dark around me, and that darkness is waiting for something like the morning awaits the arrival of the sun. That's the spark the Crystal and the souls of thousands and thousands from Gaia ignites within me; I pull Zidane behind me; there's no time to get him to safety.

At his core, the Emperor fights it. A sign that he is no longer himself—he cannot even control the darkness that fuels his magic. This was why he wanted to die: he could not admit that he had taken on too much, that he had been overpowered. He had been bested not by time nor mortality nor fate, but himself.

I feel him scream goodbye.

He's gone.

He's truly gone.

With him gone, the Chaos that infested him no longer has a puppet to constrain its movements. It eclipses Zidane and me both. It trips me at my feet, and settles its claws around my ankles. It wraps itself around my tail and binds itself to my wrists; I'm dragged down to my knees. But Zidane—

"Zidane!" I cry out.

"Kuja," he replies softly, and laughs. "Hey. I guess—I guess there's something I've been keeping from you. I… well… you know how Cecil would do absolutely anything for Golbez? I, uh, might have done the same thing. Exdeath's really good with that Void thing he keeps going on about… he gave me the extra boost I needed to protect you. And now you don't need anyone to protect you anymore, so…"

I should have known. This is my fault. I shouldn't have allowed him to help me, even for a moment. Zidane is drowning.

I don't realize until this very moment just how much darkness resides within Zidane's heart: I knew all the pieces, but I just always believed that there was something—perhaps his innate status as a warrior of Cosmos? That something protected him. But if Jecht and Golbez, warriors of Chaos, could carry the light, then Zidane…

Something was supposed to be protecting him. Me, his god.

"Zidane—you fool. You imbecile. You idiot!" I shout. "Weren't you paying attention to a single thing that happened to me?! Even someone as impossibly thick-skulled as you should have been able to figure out that the same thing would happen if…"

I can handle Chaos and the darkness. He can't.

The problem with resorting to my trance, as I should have learned by now, is that while I can maintain it for hours and even days on end, I'm terribly weak when I finally allow the energy to ebb away from my limbs. I do recover, eventually, but during that small frame of time, even a baby chocobo could overcome me. Chaos shouldn't have any trouble.

"Zidane," I say then. There were so many times that we could have had our last words. I don't know if this will be that time. "Zidane, you're my brother, and you're my family. You know that I didn't always believe that things like that were important. But I do now, and I love you for making it possible for me to understand."

And then I let go of the angry power inside of me. I expect the darkness to swarm over me, to devour me like it did the Emperor, or perhaps even like the Emperor himself would have done.

But it simply abandons Zidane as if I'd done nothing more than call its attention, and flocks to me instead. It's so gentle, it's easy to forget that it's what's dragging me under, and not just providing a cushion for my fall as my trance ebbs away from me like a draining tide.

A murky call that might have been my name trickles down to my ears. It starts off as a pale sliver of Zidane's voice, but resonates and echoes into a sound much deeper.

It's Garland. He wants to know what I'm doing here. But as I mouth the beginnings of a half-adequate response, I find that I don't have the strength to speak. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but I've never expended this much energy since that terrible day I thought I wanted to destroy everything.

I have another question. And while I haven't the faintest idea of how he could read my mind, maybe he simply realized it was an answer I cared to hear.

_Squall, Ultimecia, and Gabranth are safe. They didn't have a place here. But you, on the other hand…_

But I do? Is that what Garland is trying to say? Was everything he said to me before nothing but a lie? Do I really, truly belong to the darkness after all? Did it swallow me so gently because it wanted to welcome me back?

_Kuja, I can feel it when you despair, when you're here in my realm. It's plainer than if it were written on your face, _Garland says with a sigh that sounds almost sad. _One thing that hasn't changed about you—you're ready to assume the worst. Not all of the time anymore, but it's more than apparent now. But you did well. I want you to know that I've come to a decision about my role as Chaos. _

_Chaos must exist. Life cannot move forward without its impulse. But it must know balance and harmony, just as Cosmos must. That is the type of god of Chaos I would like to be. Kuja, now that you're here, I'd like to extend an invitation to you. You're perfectly free to accept or decline, but I want you to hear me out first._

I nod a little. That much I can manage.

_I was wondering if you, as the deity of order, would come with me to the outside. I also asked the Cloud of Darkness and Exdeath, but they politely refused. You see, there is the matter of that new world that your incomplete self created awhile ago. It broke the seal that the Origin World maintains around itself, and if we went outside that seal, to the new world, it would draw away the excess Chaos that our presence unleashed upon the Origin World and would allow it to live in peace once more. It would be unfair to the new world if I went alone, but if you came as well, to balance our respective powers, there would be nothing wrong with it._

I have a question. "But what about—" I murmur. It's difficult for me to keep awake. I need to rest.

_It would draw the excess Chaos away from your warriors. It would allow them to live in peace as well. With the Crystal in your possession, you can live in the shadows with no more trouble than if you decided to live in the shade rather than in the sun._

"But Zidane, he—" I protest. But my objection isn't with Garland; he's offering me a choice. It's with myself. Garland isn't exactly the person I would have wanted to spend an eternity with were I given the chance to live forever, but to be fair, he isn't the same Garland. It's unthinkable that with such a small gesture, I can do so much for Zidane. So much more than I've ever been able to do.

"Will it be for…ever…?" I ask drowsily. "They don't know. None of them know, except for Zidane, and he must think me lost…"

_And to them, you will be lost. I won't lie. But you'll be in a place where you can do the most for them. That's more important, isn't it? And as for eternity…that depends. But I think not. Something tells me that this new world is less than quiet._

I will make sure that this is not eternal. But for the present, I'm not sure for how much longer I can hold onto my surroundings, as simple as they are. "I'll do it," I tell him whisper-softly. "The Origin World, for all that it did to us, is the reason that I'm here now. And just because a few people with power decided…"

I don't know how to continue what I'm thinking. But I think he understands, as someone who once considered himself among those numbers. Coming from me, someone once so desperate to become one among those numbers.

_Go to sleep, Kuja_, Garland says then. His hand settles on my forehead, over my eyes. _You will be awoken when the time is right._

I wonder what I would see if I looked at my face in the mirror now. I would see the burden of my—our—origin in my moonlight-pale hair, my unnatural indigo eyes, my frail-as-porcelain skin. But I'd like to think that I would look a little stronger, at the very least. And instead of seeing my reflection in the mirror and using it as an opportunity to hate every painstakingly programmed facet of myself, maybe I would just see myself.


	62. In Paradisum

Disclaimer: I don't own any previously copyrighted material. But everything not associated with such (original plot, original characters, etc.) does belong to me.

This is the final chapter of Silkscreen Requiem. I'd like to thank everyone for reading this story and supporting me along the way. Please enjoy!

**Chapter Sixty: In Paradisum**

I'm awake, but I don't move immediately. I still feel like there's ice slushing around in me instead of blood, and if I opened my eyes, they'd be fogged with a snowy haze. My memories are lying under a thin and crisp layer of ice.

Little by little, I pry my eyes open and move my right hand in front of my face. I flip it over so I can see the back of my palm. And there it is. Not quite a tattoo, not quite a scar, but something just as permanent.

I let my hand fall again. I move my head, first seeing the seven crystalline statues arcing around my left, then around my right, and the space kind of in the middle where I must have been a few seconds ago.

And then I stare straight up. There's no natural light here, only a steady glow that must have been going on for ages without anyone's help. Someone must have found us. We've been ceremonially buried alive, a stone temple in the bowels of the earth.

I sit up, and look at the brand on my hand again. Why am I awake? We did what we were supposed to do. We fulfilled what, as far as I know, was Kuja's final wish.

The pieces that come to me are small. I cling to the old, unrelated, but still so immeasurably precious memories—of my world, of Garnet, of everything and everyone we've lost. And then I try to fit the newer ones together.

The people of our world are supported by creatures called fal'Cie, and every so often a fal'Cie will handpick one of those people out of the crowd, brand them, and give them a task to complete, as well as a new name: l'Cie. If a l'Cie completes that task, the Focus, then he or she will be granted eternal life in crystal form. That's how it's been since the beginning, and that's how it will be until the end. And that's the truth.

People saw the tattoos we bore before we had even noticed them. Mistaking them for the brands of l'Cie, they demanded to know our Focus and the identity of the fal'Cie who had elected so many, even while questioning the strangeness of our particular marks.

But it turned out that we were the ones who were wrong. I don't remember everything: I remember Cloud, and I remember Sephiroth. And then this right now, waking up here. We weren't strangers mistaken for l'Cie, we were l'Cie. Welcome home.

"So this is it, huh?" I ask the empty hall. If I'm alone, I need at least the echo of my own voice to keep me sane. "This is how it'll be, Kuja? We're your immortal servants, your l'Cie, but we don't even get to see you?"

There's so much anger in my voice. When I hear those words repeated back to me, I want to take them back. Even if I'm the only one who heard them, that's too many people.

Besides, I'm just kidding myself at this point. I know Kuja's gone. I don't think I'd want to see him as a fal'Cie, with a clockwork mask for a face and streamlined metal for skin. Because if we're l'Cie in this world, he would have to be a fal'Cie, besides the whole obvious Focus and the fact that fourteen of us are currently encased in crystal thing.

So just tell me what my new Focus is already. Give me something to think about so I don't have to listen to Kuja telling me that he loved me over and over again in the back of my mind just before he took the fall for my two seconds of weakness and despair.

There's a moon in the sky. But I can only see it in my mind's eye. No, not a moon. Something else.

I see a kid with ash-pale hair and fury sparking behind his eyes, matching the chaos and fire tearing apart the world around him. Hope. He wears clothes that, last time I checked, weren't anything like what this world's peoples wear. How much time has passed?

Cloud. No, not Cloud. Definitely not Cloud; this one's a girl. A soldier with a glower on her face, framed with streaks of a rose's pale blush. The two don't make sense together. Her name is Lightning.

She gives two others a blank stare, not unlike one that Kuja might have given me once. The one that tells me to cut out the nonsense. One of them looks just like her. Serah. The other is a bear of a guy with a fuzzy excuse for a beard but a look that says he'll put his heart into anything. Snow.

I see a father in relaxed military gear, being forcefully separated from a boy who could only be his son from the look of despair on the man's face. Sazh can't keep his eyes off the brand on Dajh's hand.

Then I see two people who make a little more sense. They look like they belong to the world that we knew. Vanille, a l'Cie. She kneels over another l'Cie, Fang. They have just woken up, just like me. Fang looks confused. Vanille looks afraid.

One last thing. A fal'Cie.

No, not a fal'Cie. Garland. He sits on one knee, cradling a faint slip of pale silk in his arms. An old temple, sealed off from the sunlight. This temple. I don't even get time to think about how much that doesn't make any sense.

"Zidane, warrior of Cosmos. My...son."

A furious scowl slices across my eyes. Great timing, old man. Good thing I have no idea why you're alive, much less why you're here and I don't really want to know the answer to either of those. I startle to my feet and turn to face him.

The way he stands isn't exactly what I saw. He kneels in front of a slip of silver, but the only contact is a gauntleted hand resting above the silver mirage's heart. It rises and falls slowly and evenly.

Kuja?

"Why," I start, my voice shaking. "How…"

I guess our old man knows us well enough to start talking before our imaginations run away with us. "I told him that I would wake him when the time was right," Garland begins. "Quite honestly, I didn't know when that time would be. I figured that he would become restless and wake up on his own, but as you can guess, it's been quite awhile. He wants to be with you. With all of you. I don't think you would have woken up if that weren't the case. Whether this is the right time or not, I believe this is the right place."

"So he's just asleep," I exhale more than speak. There's something underneath what Garland's telling me. There's a lot. "Kuja trusted you to look out for him, didn't he," I say faintly. "To take care of him. Even though…"

"Even though I am Chaos. Yes," Garland replies. I know there's another 'even though', one that he doesn't share. But we both know it's there.

"We talked," he adds. "About many things."

"I guess you did," I respond. I don't doubt it.

"I don't intend to be here when he wakes up. Parting will be difficult, knowing that the next time we meet will necessarily be a time of strife. Without discord and chaos, nothing can move enough to live. Knowing this, though, I still return your god to you. Without balance… there is nothing. Both Cosmos and Chaos need each other to keep from falling into the ever-quiet abyss."

Garland lifts his hand and pushes Kuja's hair back, and then shakes his head and rises to his feet. "As much as I would like to know both of my sons, I know you understand when I say that I hope we don't see each other for a long time."

Was that a laugh? I think. Maybe. Just in case it was, I chuckle a little. Just as I drop to my knees in front of Kuja, mirroring Garland from just a moment ago, he disappears.

See you later, old man. And thanks. Thank you for saving my brother when he was trying to save me.

I'm going to pretend I didn't spend a good half minute staring at Kuja wondering why I couldn't think of a way to wake him up that wouldn't be ridiculous or make him want to kill me. "Hey, lazy, you've been taking a nap for a few centuries too long," I say, and shake his shoulders.

He mumbles something, and turns his back to me. "Kuja, I'm pretty sure Cosmos isn't allowed to say that," I reply. "You're slacking off on the whole 'god of light and order' thing. Come on, wake up."

He snatches my hand and opens his eyes. "You're real," he breathes. "It's real."

"Uh, good morning to you too?" Then I realize that he's talking about the mark on the back of my hand. The brand of a l'Cie, the brand he gave me in what must have been his dreams.

"Zidane," Kuja says to me. "I'm glad that the last time we spoke wasn't the last time after all. I… thank you for waking me up."

I shake my head. "Come on, any one of us could have done that," I tell him, and look away. It would be incredibly stupid if I started crying in front of him right now. I can stop the tears, so long as I don't look at him.

"Thank you for waking me up," Kuja repeats firmly, each word specifically shaped and crafted to best drill into my skull. Then he bolts up into a sitting position, and promptly winces and presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose as he curls his knees into his chest. He sat up too fast. Slowly, he looks at me, and then silently looks past me. He's counting, matching faces to a number in his head.

"Where's Sephiroth?"

Hell if I know. "What do you mean, 'where's Sephiroth?'"

"If what I dreamt is what actually happened, then Sephiroth should be right… there," Kuja says, pointing vaguely behind me and to my right. "It was the only way to keep him away from Cloud, away from this world. Making him a l'Cie, I mean. I made his Focus to see Cloud. Because he would have fulfilled it regardless, and then turned into crystal. But his statue's gone."

"You gave me a new Focus, by the way."

"I'm sure I gave all of you a new Focus, I just gave it to you first."

He gave me a Focus first. Something stupid like that shouldn't matter as much as it does to me right at this very second. Before I know it, I've half-tackled him. I'm just so happy to see him alive, to know that it matters to him that I'm alive too.

"Why does something like that make you happy?" Kuja demands, but if anything he clings tighter. "I'm so selfish. I wanted to see you again, and the only way was to give you a new Focus. You think I wanted to do this to you? What if something happens and you fail? I didn't mean to make you my—my slave. It just—I didn't know that telling you to find Cloud would turn into something like this when you came to this world. And now you're trapped, because of—"

"Kuja, if I had to be stuck to a fal'Cie, I'd rather it be you. Even if you don't really look like a fal'Cie. Well, maybe especially since you don't fit in with the other fal'Cie."

He pulls away, and the look he gives me says it all. I'm an idiot. But then he asks, "Are you sure?" in a quiet voice.

"Yeah. You can go ahead and wake everyone else up now. It's all right. I don't think they'll say anything different. But hey, what do I know? I've just had to hang around them for a few hundred years. No big deal."

"Are you lying to me?"

"Nope."

Kuja staggers to his feet. He doesn't need my help, but for a split second he stumbles and reaches out to me just before he rights himself. The last thing he says to me before the other crystal statues begin to fade is a simple, three-word sentence.

"I'll trust you."

THE END


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